


Sweeter than Sugar and Cream

by novacorpsrecruit



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Freeform, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, i guess ???????????????, norman osborn's copyrighted abusive parenting, side pairing: gwen/mj
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 16:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13662999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novacorpsrecruit/pseuds/novacorpsrecruit
Summary: “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” The Goblin’s words echoed in Peter’s ears. “Because no matter how this turns out, there’s blood on your hands, Spider-Man.” // The Parksborn coffee AU nobody asked for.





	1. 'We’re all going through shit, Pete.'

**Author's Note:**

> I've read the American Son arc and Spider-Man presents: American Son recently and there's just so much that could be worked with. So this is loosely based on the ideas of those. Minus the weird pregnancy side-story with lilly hollister, and gabriel stacy's appearance. 
> 
> No post schedule planned. Will be a few chapters long, but chapters should be lengthy.

 

Peter Parker leaned against the stoop’s concrete railing. Twenty minutes ago, he received an SOS text from Mary Jane Watson. She needed help and he was one foot into his Spider-Man suit before she texted again.

_MJ: frm PP not SM_

He rolled his eyes as he slipped back out of his suit and into something more of a Parker style. Something simple, but also nice and slightly impressive. If Mary Jane was asking for his help, he better look good while doing it. It wasn’t until he was outside of her apartment that he realized if she was asking for his help, she was probably wanting more of handy work than a supportive ex-boyfriend at an audition. God. He was dumb.

“Hey, Tiger,” A voice pipped up behind him. He turned around and smiled. Mary Jane always looked so nice. Whether she was going out for an audition or picking up takeout, dressed up or dressed comfortable, she always looked _stunning_. Not many people can make a jean skirt look classy, but MJ was one of them that could. Actually, the more Peter thought about it, he wasn’t sure if that actually was jean material. Oh god, he’s staring. He moved his attention back to her face. Her red hair was pushed away from her face but it curled magnificently against the pearl of her skin. Her freckles mimicked the brown of her eyes as they danced across her cheeks as she smiled. “Thanks for coming to help out.”

“Hey MJ,” Peter smiled, running a hand through his hair. He leaned against back against the railing. “Anything for you.”

“I know that look,” She laughed, bumping shoulders against him. “Come on, we’re running late.”

“Are you nervous?” Peter asked as they walked down the streets of New York. He had no clue where they were heading, so he followed Mary Jane’s lead.

Mary Jane snaked her arm around the crook of his arm and laughed. “Me? Nervous? Not really.” She paused for a moment, as if she was thinking it over. “I mean, a little.”

“What’s the role –“

“Ah, ah,” Mary Jane warned. “You know I won’t discuss that.”

“Right,” Peter huffed. “Are you going to keep the venue a secret? Blind fold me and take me in through the back?”

“Oh?” Mary Jane raised an eyebrow, studying Peter. “Oh, no. It’s not like that. It’s a different type of help.”

“Oh, okay,” Peter said, a little uneasy. He should’ve known that he wouldn’t have been asked to help ease Mary Jane’s nerves. She can find somebody better for that. Not an ex-boyfriend. “You … don’t have an audition then?”

“No, I do.”

“God, I’m confused,” Peter laughed.

“I have an audition for a lead at 59E59,” Mary Jane explained, pulling Peter around the block. “But I also over extended myself, so I need help.”

“We’re heading in the wrong direction,” Peter pointed over his shoulder, as if the theatre was right behind them. “Isn’t that more in Midtown?”

“Peter Benjamin Parker, if you would let me finish,” Mary Jane laughed. God, he loved to hear her laugh. “Like, I said. I over extended myself. Promised I’d help out a friend and I hoped that you would be able to fill in? Just for an hour or two until I get back?”

“I dunno, MJ,” Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He wanted to help Mary Jane not a friend of a friend of a friend of a … “I know summer just started but August is always just around the corner and I need to work on lesson plans before crime starts to really pick up.”

Mary Jane rolled her eyes as if she’s heard that before. Actually, she probably has heard something similar out of Peter’s mouth. “He said he’d pay.”

“I’m in.”

“Good,” Mary Jane smirked as she pulled Peter into the Coffee Bean. “Because we’re here and I told him that you were excited to be here.”

“Oh,” Peter raised an eyebrow. He took a quick glance. “OH. Oh. Oh no. I’m not excited to be wait staff –“

“Don’t be dumb,” Mary Jane rolled her eyes. “You’re on dish duty.”

“ _What_.”

“I’m joking!” Mary Jane laughed as she pulled him to the bar. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Harry.”

Peter rolled his eyes. This isn’t what he meant when he said he wanted to help Mary Jane out. This is barely helping Mary Jane. God. He needed to find something to help get over her. They haven’t dated for … almost two years? Why is he still hung up over her? He watched her lean over the bar, as she talked to the man at the counter. Peter knew why. She was his first love. The first girl that really mattered to him and he let her get away. God. He’s so dumb –

“ – So Peter said he would help,” Mary Jane said, smacking Peter’s chest and bringing him back to Earth. “Isn’t that right, Peter?”

“Uh, yeah,” Peter said, turning his attention at the guy at the counter. Suddenly realizing that the man’s attention had been on him the entire time he was watching Mary Jane. “Yeah. I can do that. I mean, how hard can it be to make coffee? I can set the machine to make a pot –“

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Mary Jane laughed. “Some of the regulars are pretty particular to their coffee.”

“Regulars?” Peter raised an eyebrow.

“Mary Jane’s filled in for me a few times,” the man said, his voice smooth and sweet. Something about the way he talked made Peter want to smile. Or punch him. The feeling’s pretty mutual. “We’re short staffed since the semester ended.”

“Okay,” Peter said. He glanced back to Mary Jane, then back to the guy at the counter. “Are you going to crash course me or is Harry going to do that?”

“Peter,” Mary Jane said. “I just introduced you. This is Harry.”

“Lyman,” Harry added. “Harry Lyman.”

“Oh,” Peter said as a blush creeped under the olive of his skin. An apology was at the tip of his tongue, until he really took in Harry. He wasn’t much older than him. Actually, Peter would be surprised if he actually was older than Peter. His jawline was sharp and way too familiar. Peter could almost swear that he’s met him before. His dark eyes, his perfect smile, his copper skin all felt too familiar. But, how could he forget a face like – “Can we talk for a moment?” Peter said, grabbing Mary Jane’s arm and lightly tugging her away from the counter.

“What?” Mary Jane asked, her tone hushed and borderline frustrated. “You’re making a scene.”

“There’s no one here to make a scene to,” Peter mimicked her tone. “I just – I can’t work for someone who’s younger than us –“

“He’s not younger than us,” MJ said sternly.

“-- It just doesn’t feel right. Is there another manager that’s working? Or would it just be us two?”

“Peter, he’s the owner,” Mary Jane said. “And it’s just you two. That’s why we brought you in. He’s understaffed. Please. I promise you, he’s fantastic.”

Peter pressed his lips together as he focused on Mary Jane’s sincere tone. Peter wasn’t one for authority, it took all of his spider-strength from snapping at the school board when they suggested that he shouldn’t teach evolution to the freshmen (he did find his strength to talk with them and allow a small lesson over it). He wasn’t sure how well he’d do if with someone who is barely older than him. “Okay,” He sighed.

“Great,” She said, grabbing his hand and pulling him back to the bar. “I’ll teach you how to run the cash register.”

“It’s … It’s an ­­iPad,” Peter said, glancing to the bar then back to Mary Jane. “Plus, I thought you were running late.”

“No, _we_ were running late,” She clarified. “There’s a pick-up rush at 5. My audition isn’t until 5:30. I just couldn’t stay and help.”

“Oh,” Peter said, glancing back to Harry who gave a soft smile as he cleaned a few shot glasses – oh, _those_ are for the espresso machine. “Okay.”

Mary Jane showed Peter how to run the point of sales app, finding the specific drink and adding onto it. She showed him how to run the transaction through with cards and how to trigger the money drawer. He wasn’t going to make any drinks, they didn’t have time to teach him how to run the espresso machine. He was, however, going to write the drink orders on the cup.

“It’s easier if you abbreviate the drinks, Tiger,” Mary Jane laughed as she watched Peter write out, ‘Caramel white chocolate mocha w/ 2 shots of expresso’ on the cup.

“I did,” Peter said as he passed the cup to Harry. “I used a ‘w’ for with.”

“And an ‘x’ in espresso,” Harry added, with a small smirk. “But you do whatever, Tiger.”

“Don’t call me that,” Peter wrinkled his brow. The nickname Mary Jane gave him felt affectionate, almost like a pet name, and still made his heart skipped a beat anytime she said it. The way Harry said it, felt somewhat different. Like if there was a black hole in his chest that stole his heart for a moment before giving it back. He couldn’t place his finger on what he felt. He almost wanted him to say it again, so he could figure out why he didn’t like how it felt. Peter watched as Harry pulled the shots. It was almost cathartic the way he moved around the espresso machine. He reached for the metal cup, filling it with milk. Harry’s soft humming was quickly silenced by the steamer at work.

Mary Jane dug her elbow into Peter’s side. “Play nice.”

“I’m trying,” Peter said, placing his hand on his side where her sharp elbow was. “That hurt.”

Mary Jane rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Mr. I-Beat-Up-Criminals-For-Fun.”

“MJ,” Peter hushed. Mary Jane was the only one who knew about his secret identity. And he never meant for her to know. She’s just … that good. Or Peter needed to learn how to be more careful, but either way, Peter did like that he was able to talk to her about Spider-Man related problems.

“Okay, I need to head off,” She laughed, reaching over to ruffle his hair. Peter huffed as pushed his hair back into place. “Bye, Petey. See ya, Harry.”

“Bye, MJ,” Harry called as he poured the espresso into the paper cup, then following with the steamed milk. “Knock ‘em dead.”

“You got it,” She winked as she was out of the door.

And Peter felt all of his confidence leave with her.

Okay, not all. He’s a walking ball of confidence. He just felt awkward standing behind the counter of a coffee house owned by a guy that’s barely older than him. He watched as Harry handed the white mocha to the customer, giving the softest smile as he thanked her for coming in.

God. He hated him already.

Peter will be starting his second year of teaching in the fall. The school isn’t that great, it’s not the worst, but he was kind of hoping for an opening at Midtown Science High. He knew they would lean toward hiring an alumnus. But he was stuck at a regular public school that questioned him teaching basic lessons about evolution.

And here was Harry.

Barely older than him (Peter wasn’t sure on that, he wanted actual dates before he could claim Harry was older), owns a coffee shop and does well enough that he has employees. He might be understaffed, but he has them. Sometimes. Peter wouldn’t be surprised if he owned a beautiful apartment, high above the city with a beautiful view of Central Park.

Yep. Peter hated Harry.

Peter crossed his arms as he leaned against the back counter. “So,” He started. If they were going to work together, they might as well talk a little. “How do you know MJ?”

“We were roommates,” Harry said, as he leaned back against the counter, too, as if he was mimicking Peter’s body language. “For like, six months? Before she moved out.”

“You’re that bad of a roommate?” Peter joked. He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Even if he did hate Harry, he didn’t mean to insult him.

“I guess so,” Harry laughed, he rubbed the back of his neck. Peter’s eyes darted to watch him. Harry’s tan shirt balanced perfectly against his skin, much like the espuma to its espresso in the shots he pulled. Harry brought his hand to his face, almost in shame. “Too much singing in the shower.”

“I’ve got that complaint, too,” Peter smirked. “She just … never mentioned you.”

“Oh,” Harry shifted his posture. Peter instantly felt bad for bringing it up. He’s just never heard Harry’s name before. Hell, he’s barely heard of the Coffee Bean before. He didn’t know Mary Jane came out to help Harry. But he guessed that it wasn’t Mary Jane’s lack of telling him, it was just … his lack of being involved in her life.

“Don’t take it as a bad thing,” Peter said. “We just reconnected this year, and I just figured she would’ve mentioned you or something.”

“Wait, you’re _that Peter_?” Harry raised an eyebrow. “God, I was just about to warn you that she’s not interested.”

“Yeah, I know – wait, what do you mean _‘that Peter’_?” Peter snapped. Harry raised his hands half-heartedly in his defense.

“I just – hey, customer,” He gave a soft nod toward the door opening. Peter glanced at him before stepping up to the iPad, to take the woman’s order. After she handed him the three dollars for the coffee and dropped a fourth dollar into the tip jar, she went to sit down at a table to wait. Peter handed the paper cup to Harry.

“What do you mean ‘that Peter’,” He repeated quietly.

“You just didn’t look like a heartbreaker,” Harry replied as he pulled the shot for the woman’s Americano.

“I didn’t … mean to do that,” Peter said softly. He really didn’t. He thought he was protecting Mary Jane. Protecting Gwen. Protecting the ones he love. He backed out from all of his relationships. Hesitant to hang out, whether it was in public or in private. He couldn’t let them be in any danger as long as he was Spider-Man, even if that meant severing ties to friends. It was surprisingly he didn’t do the same thing to his Aunt May.

“I don’t think anyone really plans on breaking someone’s heart,” Harry said as-matter-of-factly as he added the water to the espresso. He put the lid on and walked back to the counter. Peter watched as Harry’s somber face quickly turned into the soft smile as he called the woman’s drink. “Americano?”

Peter’s stomach twisted. He wasn’t sure if it was the way he changed expressions so quickly or if it was because he sounded hurt the way he talked about heartbreak.

The woman put her phone back into her pocket and walked to Harry. She thanked him as she took her coffee, leaving in a hurry.

“You guys just didn’t meet as roommates, did you?” Peter asked, breaking the silence.

“I mean, practically,” Harry said with a smile. “We were at one of those shady apartments, where they show two potential tenants the same apartment and then say that it’s the only one available, and it was really shitty,” Harry laughed. “Really shitty. Anyway, MJ and I decided to skip that, and find a better one together.”

“When was this?”

Harry paused to think, “Almost two years ago? Maybe closer to one and a half. It was right after I dropped out of college.”

Peter hated how he knew why Mary Jane was looking for an apartment then. “Couldn’t handle it?” He joked.

“Mental breakdown,” Harry said plainly. He moved from his spot on the counter to wipe down some of the machinery. Peter bit his lip as he realized he hit a sore spot. “Let me tell you, senior year wasn’t the best year for me.”

“Sorry,” Peter said, unsure if he was apologizing for bringing it up or sympathetic for his terrible time in college.

“You’re fine,” Harry said, tossing the towel back into his apron’s pocket. He gave Peter a reassuring smile, Peter couldn’t help but to smile back. “I got the help I needed and found myself in the end, so I guess that worked out.”

“That’s good,” Peter nodded. He studied Harry for a moment. God, he knew that face from somewhere. “Where did you go for college? I swear I know –“

The shopkeeper’s bell rang as the door opened, a few college-aged kids came in.

“Here’s the rush,” Harry smirked, glancing out of the window to a few more people crowding outside. “You ready, Pete?”

“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” Peter smiled back.

It wasn’t too bad of a rush. Enough that Peter, who had no idea how to make a cup of coffee without brewing an entire pot, didn’t need to help Harry make any drinks. He just needed to run the cash register, occasionally handling drip coffees when Harry pointed him to the right carafe. Harry did most of the real work.

“Two medium iced vanilla lattes!”

When Peter had small breaks between customers, he’d watch Harry make the drinks. He had it down to a science. Maybe an art. Harry looked like he could’ve been an art major. Sometimes, Harry would hand Peter the cup to call out. Peter would barely have a hold of the cup before Harry let go, switching to the next drink.

“Chai tea latte!”

Peter used to use coffee shops as quiet places. Whenever he needed to study or work on lesson plans, along with drowning himself in caffeine? He’d go to the small coffee house down the block. There was always people inside, but it always seemed so quiet. But Peter never thought about life behind the counter. God, everything was moving so quickly and the constant high buzz of the grinder kicking on it felt like an anxiety rush. It was almost too much, but hearing Harry softly hum felt like a nice break between the noises.

“Espresso, room for cream!”

Peter turned to Harry, about to ask how to mark ‘pour-over’ on the cup, but Harry was already there, taking the cup out of his hand and setting it aside. Harry snuck behind Peter, placing his hand against the small of his back as he reached for an oddly-shaped glass carafe on the counter. Peter thought the iodine flask felt out of place in the coffee shop. “This one’s easy,” He assured Peter, as he pulled his touch away. “When we’re not busy, I’ll show you how.”

Peter kind of hated it, but some part of him craved for the coffee shop to empty out.

But at the same time, he wanted it to fill up and nobody to leave until closing time. He didn’t want to be alone with Harry. So, Peter prayed to whatever deity that wanted to listen to him today to keep business booming.

An hour passed, and they stayed busy. Peter gave quick quips to Harry in between order takings and cup passings, unsure why he was trying so hard. He really didn’t care if he ever saw Harry after today, but there was something that felt right about trying to pull a smile out of the man, watching as the corner of his mouth curl into a smirk.

“I know that look,” a voice laughed. Peter turned his attention away from Harry and to Mary Jane at the counter. “Do you need me to spell it out?”

“No,” Peter said without hesitation. “How did your audition go?”

“Really well,” She smiled. Harry looked over from the pour-over he started, waiting to finish the bloom before he could leave it unintended for a few minutes. “I feel really good about this.”

“Great,” Peter said. “When will you hear back?”

“By Friday,” Mary Jane grinned. “Gwen and I are going out to celebrate tonight, are you in?”

“I’ll pass,” Peter diverted his eyes from Mary Jane. He knew he didn’t have anything but patrolling the city to do, and he uses that excuse enough. “I really should –“

“Lesson plans, got it,” Mary Jane interrupted in a huff. She knew better. She knew Peter. She glanced to Harry. “You joining?”

“I … can’t,” He said as he poured the last of the hot water into the neck of the filter. “I’m stuck here. I don’t have anyone covering tonight.”

“Right,” She said. Peter caught the slight annoyance in her voice, the same annoyance she just gave him for bailing out. “Guess it’s just us then.” She paused, waiting for one of the boys to offer to change their plans, close the coffee house early or skip saving New York City from chaos, before sighing. “Can I get two lemonades to go then? Blackberry mint and pineapple please.”

“Okay,” Peter said, feeling bad about bailing. He just … couldn’t. He couldn’t look at Gwen and say that everything will be alright because he learned the hard way that it’s not possible to keep that promise. He set the cups aside, barely having time to set it down before Harry already picked it up.

“Hey, I can show you how to do these,” Harry laughed. “Not like it takes much.”

“What a gentleman,” Peter laughed, glancing back at Mary Jane before Harry reached out, grabbing the hook of his arm, and tugged him to the syrups.

“Ideally, you want the cups already filled with ice,” Harry started, skipping the ice completely as he extended the cup toward the pineapple syrup. Peter almost zoned out as Harry explained what a pump of syrup is and how to get the best of its flavor. How you wanted to add the ice first, so the syrup doesn’t stay at the bottom of the drink. How when you pour the lemonade in, you wanted to cover everywhere the syrup was. How Mary Jane probably didn’t want the ice since she’s heading to see Gwen and doesn’t want it to water down. “You can do that one,” he finished as he walked back to Mary Jane at the counter.

Peter glanced toward them as they laughed, realizing he was only half-listening and hoped that Gwen wasn’t going to be too disappointed in this lemonade.

He brought the drink back to Mary Jane, setting it on the counter. “Are you going to walk me home, Tiger? Or are you going to earn a few more bucks for the night?”

“Uh –“

“You don’t have to stay,” Harry said. “I think I can handle it. There’s one more rush about seven, but it’s not much to handle.”

“No, I can stay,” Peter said, almost too quickly. “I just – ” remembered that he said he couldn’t go to dinner with Mary Jane and Gwen because of his lesson plans. “– Need to work on lesson plans tonight. So I’ll head home after the rush.”

Harry smiled.

“Why don’t – Why don’t I walk you partway MJ?” Peter turned to Mary Jane. “And I can pick us up some subs from a deli or something?”

“That will work,” Mary Jane said. “I need to talk to you about your _lesson plans_ , anyway.”

The way she emphasized lesson plans sent shivers down his spine. Something made him realize it wasn’t going to be about his lesson plans at all. He almost wondered if it was too soon to back out of walking Mary Jane home, so she couldn’t ask him why he was avoiding Gwen. He knew why, he just … didn’t want to tell Mary Jane.

“Yeah, that works,” Harry agreed. “Let me go get my wallet and I’ll –“

“I can cover it,” Peter said as he walked around the counter. “It’s no big deal. What do you want?”

“Turkey on rye,” Harry said. “Unless you go to ­­City Sandwich, then I’ll take their prosciutto sub.”

“That’s a little farther south than –“

“I can swing by if that’s what you’re hungry for,” Peter interrupted Mary Jane. “I mean, it’s not that big of a deal. And it sounds good, too. It’s like, what, an extra five minutes on a subway?”

Or an extra two minutes if you’re swinging on a web.

“It’s three miles south from here,” Mary Jane laughed. “Plus, if you’re walking me halfway –“

“I’ll be quick,” Peter reassured, taking one of the lemonades from Mary Jane and pulling her toward the door. “I bet I could even order on the phone and meet a delivery guy halfway. We’ll be back – I’ll be back, she won’t. She’s leaving.”

“Alright,” Harry laughed, reaching for his phone. Peter threw a quick glance back at Harry before they left the building, almost wanting him to look back up for a final goodbye, but his attention was glued to his phone as he texted.

“Anything special happen while I was gone?” Mary Jane asked, once they were out of the building.

“I decided I hate him,” Peter said confidently. Mary Jane rolled her eyes.

“I’m serious.”

“Me too.”

“Why?”

“He’s just – a trust fund kid,” Peter sighed. “He could blink and get anyone he wanted – _anything_ he wanted. Because of the money. He’s just … I just don’t trust him.”

“Says the man who picked up another shift to work with him,” Mary Jane rolled her eyes. Peter was about to defend himself before Mary Jane spoke up again. “You know if you’re avoiding Gwen, you can just say it.”

“I’m not avoiding her,” Peter lied. “I’m just …”

“Avoiding her,” Mary Jane repeated. “You don’t have to feel guilty, you know. It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have done anything --”

“Yeah, I know,” Peter sighed. “I just … don’t know what to say. I could’ve done more. And she hates me because of it –“

“She doesn’t hate you –“

“She hates Spider-Man,” Peter said. “And I don’t know what to do.”

“You could tell her,” Mary Jane suggested.

“Yeah and she’ll never speak to me again.”

“As if you speak to her anyway,” Mary Jane said, stopping at the street corner waiting for the light to change. She glanced at her phone, quickly reading a text, before putting it back in her pocket. She turned to Peter, taking Gwen’s drink from him. “I can’t keep your secret away from her forever. I think she needs to hear it from you. Plus, if you convince her you’re not an asshole who can’t deal with someone’s death, maybe Spider-Man will grow on her.”

“MJ –“

“I get it,” She said, shrugging her shoulders. “You’re going through shit. We all are. You have to think of her too. She didn’t just lose her dad, she lost a friend when you disappeared on her.”

Peter nodded softly. He really didn’t think about that. Gwen didn’t know about his secret identity, so she didn’t know that he was trying to protect her. Mary Jane, on the other hand, knew. But that didn’t make it any better.

“He’s single, you know.”

“What?” Peter looked up. Mary Jane smirked.

“Harry,” She said. “He’s single. If you’re not going to be there for Gwen, he could probably use a friend, too.”

“I’m not – I’m not interested,” Peter wrinkled his brow. “I told you, I didn’t like him. I don’t trust him.”

“So, you’d rather spend your time attached to a man you hate than reconnect with Gwen?” Mary Jane raised an eyebrow. Peter felt his gut drop with guilt. “You can head back. I know my way home.”

“Mary Jane, I’m sorry,” Peter said. “Tell Gwen –“

“You need to tell her,” Mary Jane said sternly. “She needs to hear it from you.”

The crosswalk light changed, beeping softly to signal it was safe to walk. “Okay,” Peter nodded.

“By the way, Harry said he ordered delivery,” She said as she started on her way home alone. “Catch you later, Tiger.”

“Hey!” Peter called after her, feet planted against the curb. “What did you mean that he could use a friend?”

“We’re all going through shit, Pete,” She called back from the other side of the street. Her voice was almost drowned out by the sound of passing cars. “Be a friend to someone for once.”

\-----

Peter’s heart was beating too fast, too hard. His Spider-senses were going haywire. He could barely focus on the man in front of him.

No.

The Green Goblin wasn’t a man.

He lost his humanity a long time ago.

Norman Osborn was a business man. He was the head of Oscorp, a multibillion-dollar chemical company. He was someone that Peter looked up to. Peter wanted to join Oscorp ever since he first toured their labs in high school. Peter attended every lecture Norman gave on Empire State University’s campus, even a few on Columbia University’s campus.

Norman was also Peter’s most powerful enemy.

He was unpredictable.

He was reckless.

His gadgets and tricks were endless, keeping Peter on his toes.

The last time Spider-Man fought the Goblin, Peter lost Spider-sense temporarily after being sprayed with a mysterious gas, taking far too many hits.

And now, he was faced with the unthinkable.

He was bruised and battered. Norman got too many hits on a sleep-deprived Spider-Man. Peter didn’t even want to be out tonight, but he knew he had to. He had a responsibility to the city, and that responsibility grabbed him in the middle of the Bronx and dragged him carelessly to the Hudson River.

Peter lost count of the amount of buildings the Goblin threw him against on the way. He was going to be surprised if he left their fight with just a mild concussion. Hell, he’d be surprised if he left the fight alive.

The Goblin dropped him in the freezing November water before pulling him high above the city, slamming him against the cold concrete of the bridge’s tower.

It wasn’t until he heard a muffled shriek when his adrenaline began pumping again.

He pushed himself off the ground, hand against his head as he tried to focus on the scene in front of him. His vision blurred in and out between the rope extended in front of him and the Green Goblin grinning behind it.

“What’s – What’s going on,” He mumbled, deciding to turn his focus on the rope. They were at the top of the tower. There should be nothing holding the rope up, especially with that strong of a tension. He followed one end, realizing what was at the end of the rope.

Or who.

“Captain Stacy?” Spider-Man yelled. His vision started to clear. Captain George Stacy was angled awkwardly against the edge of the tower’s platform, the rope wrapped around his body was the only thing keeping him from falling. A cloth gag kept Captain Stacy silent, but Peter could still see his desperate cries for help. But … not for him. Peter followed his glance to the other side of the tower, following the rope’s tension to the unmistakable blonde hair.

“Gwen!” He called out, taking a step toward her – realizing that the tension of the rope was the only thing keeping the two of them up. He glanced to Norman, wanting an explanation, but only received his inhumane grin.

“Norman! You can’t do this!” Peter focused his energy to his core, stabilizing himself as he rocked to the balls of his feet, prepared to make a move.

“Who says I can’t?” The Green Goblin laughed. Peter wasn’t sure if he could reach out to the human side of Norman anymore. The goblin formula has overpowered him.

“Norman!” Peter continued, hoping to reach out to the man behind the mask. Hoping to somehow pull Norman out of the goblin serum and back to reality. “They’re going to get hurt!”

“Isn’t that the point?” The Goblin grinned. Peter felt his heart stop. He glanced toward Gwen, whose eyes grew big at the Goblin’s comment, begging for Spider-Man to do something.

“Gwen, don’t listen to him,” Spider-Man called, his arm extended toward her. “Everything will be alright. Gwen, I promise you –“

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” The Goblin warned. “Because no matter how this turns out, there’s blood on your hands, Spider-Man.”

“Norman, you gotta pull out of it –“

“It’s their blood –“ Norman moved his arm upward in a swift, clean motion, catching the rope with the sharp blades on his forearm. “-- On your hands.”

Peter couldn’t move quick enough.

Captain Stacy was already falling.

 _Gwen_ was already falling.

The Goblin was laughing.

Peter didn’t have time to think.

Peter jumped.

 _Spider-Man_ jumped off the edge of the tower, diving quickly toward Gwen Stacy.

Gwen’s screams were muffled by the gag, but Peter knew he had to be quick, he just had to pray that the science of aerodynamics were on his side. And for once, maybe something would go right.

As soon as he caught up to her, he wrapped an arm around her waist, extending his free hand upward. He shot a web to the nearest support beam, pulling them to a stop.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Peter tried to calm, rushing to get Gwen webbed up so he could save her father –

The noise behind Peter’s back made his heart stop.

Gwen screamed.

Peter was too late. Too slow.

Gwen’s body started to shake as she wailed, burying her head into Spider-Man’s shoulder. Peter held her tighter.

“Gwen, I –“ God, what could he say? Could he even say anything? _Should_ he even say anything? He pulled the gag out of her mouth. He hesitated, thinking that it was a bad time to apologize. _But he needed to._ “I’m – I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Gwen, I – I’m --”

“Take – Take me down,” Gwen softly ordered between sobs.

Peter shut up and nodded gently. He held her tightly as he lowered them down to the pathway along the George Washington Bridge. As soon as their feet touch the ground, Gwen collapsed to her knees, sobs wrecking her body. Peter helped pull the ropes off her body, tossing them aside. He glanced to the police cars blocking traffic across the bridge, their lights flashing. He needed to leave before they pull him aside for questioning, before his identity is revealed.

“Gwen –“ Peter said, kneeling down beside Gwen. He reached out to touch her shoulder, wanting to pull her in for an embrace.

Gwen jerked her body away.

Officers pulled their guns, taking aim at the vigilante.

Peter raised his hands.

“I –“ Gwen tried to speak up, fighting through the tears. “I don’t ne -- need your help.”

“Gwen –“

“Don’t a -- act like you know m -- me,” Gwen snapped. “You couldn’t – You didn’t –“ She couldn’t finish her sentence, knowing she had to acknowledge _what happened_. Her sobs said enough.

“I –“

The Goblin’s loud cackle from above them tore Peter’s attention off of Gwen. If the Goblin was still here, he could hurt more people. He wouldn’t just stop at Gwen and her father. Peter stood up. One of the police officers yelled a command for Spider-Man to get on the ground, but the voice was muffled against his own thoughts.

“I couldn’t,” he repeated. “I’m sorry.”

Spider-Man jumped off the side of the bridge, using his own momentum to launch himself up against the tower’s beams and crawl upward to the Goblin.

He had to stop Norman Osborn.

\-----

Peter arrived back at the coffee shop, meeting the sandwich delivery guy as he left the café. Peter looked up at Harry as he searched the cabinets for plates.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” Peter said as he approached the counter. Harry grinned as he set the two porcelain plates, usually reserved for small baked goods, on the counter. “I told you, I had it covered.”

“Yeah, but this way we can eat before the rush gets here,” Harry said, handing the brown sack to Peter. “Go grab a table, I’ll get napkins. Drink?”

“Uh, water. I guess,” Peter said, picking up the plates from the counter. He picked a table close to the counter, in case they had a customer come in. Harry grabbed a glass, filling it up with water. He grabbed his iced coffee off the counter and brought both drinks to the table.

“You sure you don’t need a burst of energy?” Harry smirked, taking a sip of his coffee as he sat across from Peter. He knocked his knee against Peter’s under the small table. Peter brushed it off, knowing that he probably didn’t mean to do it, but it was hard to resist the urge to keep his knee against his touch. “We have that rush coming. You might need it.”

“You know caffeine doesn’t actually give you energy, right?” Peter laughed.

“What?” Harry reached into the bag and pulled out Peter’s sandwich, handing it to him.

“Yeah,” Peter unwrapped his sub as he continued, unsure why he was trying so hard to impress Harry. “Like, it’s a stimulant, but it doesn’t actually give you energy. It actually blocks the actions of adenosine from being received by its receptors. So, it’s not energy it’s giving you. It’s just blocking you from getting drowsy –“

“No, I know that,” Harry said, his attention glued to Peter. “I just … are you mansplaining caffeine to me?”

Peter stopped trying to put the sandwich in his mouth. “What?”

“You were!” Harry laughed.

“I wasn’t –“

“Peter, I own a coffee shop,” Harry laughed, finally unwrapping his sub sandwich. “I know how the effects of caffeine work.”

“I – Sorry,” Peter gave a half-assed smile, something between embarrassment and an apology. “Science, it’s – uh –“ He gestured vaguely with his hands. “-- my thing.”

“It’s your thing?” Harry repeated, as if he was processing what Peter said. “Like, it’s your major?”

“No I – “ Peter wrinkled his brow, he knew he was kind of baby faced, but he didn’t think he looked younger than Harry. “I teach science.”

“Oh, okay,” Harry relaxed, taking a bite of his sub. “At least your mansplaining has some credibility.”

“I wasn’t mansplaining,” Peter said sternly.

“Mhm,” Harry hummed as he took sip of his coffee. Peter rolled his eyes. There wasn’t any convincing Harry that he didn’t mean to over-explain caffeine to him. He just … couldn’t stop himself from talking. Something in him urged him to carry on the conversation, to keep Harry’s attention on him and his voice.

“Hey, so I swear you look familiar,” Peter said between the bites of his sandwich. He brushed the crumbs off of his face. “Where did you go to college?”

“I – “ Peter could swear Harry tensed for a second before relaxing. “I went to Columbia.”

“Oh,” Peter said, leaning on the table toward Harry. “Did you ever swing by the ESU campus? You just … really look familiar.”

“Uh, no, not – not really,” He laughed, almost awkwardly. “I was pretty well … uh, distracted.”

“That sounds promising,” Peter grinned. He half-wondered what _or who_ distracted Harry. Or whos? Were there multiple?

“I _wish_ it was like that,” Harry said, a smirk playing on his lips. “I was a chemical engineering major with 19 hours a semester.”

“So, no time for hooking up?” Peter joked, half regretting the words falling out of his mouth. He knew that he either sounded like a freak or like a dude-bro frat boy. A complete creep, either way. Peter wanted to excuse himself and go smack his head against the wall in the bathroom. Why was he trying so hard?

“Oh,” Harry smirked. He rested his chin in his hand as he leaned on the table. “Oh, I made time for that.”

And for a half-second, Peter wondered if Harry was going to lean in any further.

With Harry this close, Peter could really see how handsome he was. His dark eyes reflected the natural light, revealing the soft golden flecks well concealed in his brown irises. He was definitely running on the bare minimum of sleep, no concealer in the world could hide his dark circles. But the way he slowly closed his eyes, as if he was trying to get a quick nap between each blink, allowed Peter to admire his long lashes. Peter tried to avoid staring at his smirk. There was something about it that just ... made Peter want to act on impulse.

The soft ring of a bell pulled Harry away. His mouth moved, and words came out, but Peter couldn’t find himself able to process what he said. It wasn’t until Harry stood up, walked behind the counter and met the customer at the bar did he remember what they were supposed to be doing.

Peter barely had time to stand up before Harry called over to him.

“I got it, don’t worry,” he said as he took the plastic cup over to espresso machine.

Peter hesitated before sitting back down. He quietly watched Harry fix the iced latte, with what looked like too many shots of espresso to actually be enjoyable. He handed the drink to the man with too many books tucked under his arm. The man took a sip of the coffee and left in a hurry, for what Peter assumed could only be an evening full of classes.

“So,” Peter called to Harry as he cleaned the espresso grounds out of the portafilter. “Chemical engineering undergrad with 110 credit hours and you found your calling in a coffee shop?”

“A hundred and twenty-five,” Harry called, over the sound of the steamer.

“What?”

“A hundred and twenty-five credit hours,” Harry said, pushing the steamer back into its place. He walked back to Peter. “I dropped out with 125 credit hours.”

“How much more did you need to graduate?”

Harry sighed, rubbing his face as he sat down. “Like, three classes and my thesis.”

“Shit, really?” Peter raised an eyebrow. “Have you thought about going back?”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “Not at all. Last thing on my mind.”

“Okay,” Peter said cautiously. He couldn’t understand why Harry wouldn’t want to finish his degree, when he was so close to finishing it. He knew he said he had a mental breakdown, but three classes and a thesis could be manageable. Peter knew he should drop the topic. “So the coffee house?”

“It … It was along the way,” Harry said. “A step to recovery, I guess. Uh, I started out as a barista after dropping out and somehow I ended up owning the place.” Harry laughed, carefree as if this all happened by chance.

Peter gave a small smile, unsure how to interpret the situation. Harry’s laugh made Peter want to laugh, too, to find solidarity with Harry, but some part of him knew Harry was still a trust fund kid. That he probably asked his parents to buy it for him, so he could run it instead of the previous boss. Peter wondered if he fired his boss, too. “That … happens sometimes,” Peter said, hinting with sarcasm. Not everyone had rich parents.

“Hah, yeah,” Harry chuckled. Peter wasn’t sure if Harry understood his sarcasm, and at this point, he was too afraid to correct himself. He prayed to any deity that was listening that Harry actually wasn’t a stuck-up rich kid who was supported by his parents, but the more he talked with him, the more he realized the possibility was slimming. “So, you teach science?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, almost glad that they changed subjects. “At a public high school, it’s not great but I teach chemistry and biology at all levels.”

“You make it sound depressing,” Harry laughed. “The public school part.”

“Yeah, well – “ Peter rubbed the back of his neck. It wasn’t that the school was bad, it was actually one of the nicer public schools in his district. “It’s not my first choice.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Harry said, as he took a bite of his sandwich. “I mean, I went to Dalton, and haven’t been in a public school since elementary, even then it was only for a year or two, but I definitely remember it being wild.”

“Oh … yeah.” Rich kid theory confirmed. Peter almost hated this conversation. “I just meant that I was hoping to teach at my old high school. It was a magnet school.”

“That makes sense,” Harry nodded. “Especially if science is _your thing_ … It _was_ a science magnet school, right?”

“Yeah,” Peter laughed. “Plus, it would pay a little bit better. I’ve been waiting for a position to open up to send my resume in.”

“You should send it in anyway,” Harry said, eating his last bite. He covered his mouth as he finished chewing before he spoke back up. “You never know if they have a position open and it’s not posted.”

“Yeah,” Peter said nonchalantly as he watched Harry stand up and take both their empty plates behind the counter. Peter wasn’t sure if he would actually do that. It feels … weird to send a resume in without a purpose. “I’ll think about that.”

“Are you working on your master’s?” Harry asked as he rinsed the plates in the small sink, putting them in the soapy tub. “That would help, too. Getting a position at your school, I mean.”

Peter _has_ thought about it. He’s thought about teaching at a college-level, too. But he knew he couldn’t balance work, education _and_ Spider-Man. He’s done that before when work was just small jobs, here and there, and not a full-time position. “I’ve considered it. I don’t think I have time for it.”

“They have night classes for a reason,” Harry laughed, drying his hands against his apron. He leaned against the counter, studying Peter from afar. “I think even Columbia has a summer master’s program.”

“I’m still short on time,” Peter said sharply. He didn’t like the other man assuming things about him. “Plus, I’m short on funds, too. Like I said, I teach at a public high school.”

“Right,” Harry said, leaning off the counter, understanding he overstepped. “I get that.”

That annoyed Peter. He gets it. This rich kid gets it. Peter needed to talk to Mary Jane and complain about her trust fund friend. He took a drink of his water. He kind of wished it was some sort of alcohol. He needed a drink.

The shopkeeper’s bell rang as a few people entered. Peter stood up and walked behind the counter to help Harry.

“This shouldn’t be as bad as earlier,” Harry said quietly, so the customers pondering over the menu wouldn’t hear him. “There’ll be pockets of a rush.”

Peter opened his mouth to respond, but the first customer spoke up, quickly telling Peter her order. Peter shut his mouth and nodded, quickly marking it on the paper cup.

And Harry was right.

Over the next hour, there were plenty of breaks between growing crowds. There was never more than 6 drinks to make consecutively, and in between there were small stories exchanged, pulling a quick laugh from the other.

“Did MJ ever tell you about the cat that wouldn’t leave our apartment?” Harry asked, as he picked up the two dirty porcelain mugs that customers left on their table.

“No,” Peter laughed. “She’s allergic.”

“Yeah, it was bad,” Harry laughed. “The first day we discovered it, she thought it was mine and tried to yell at me. She looked like a tomato.”

“Oh no,” Peter smirked. He’s gotta ask Mary Jane about this next time he sees her.

“Oh yeah,” Harry said, grinning back. “We found out one of the window screens was loose and that’s how he kept getting in. It took like, ten times before we figured it out.”

“You’re joking.”

“I swear,” Harry said, placing the dirty mugs on the counter in front of Peter. He leaned in, small smile on his face. God. Peter hated it. He hated the feeling he got in his gut when Harry leaned in. The twist in his stomach felt way too familiar, almost bringing anxiety to his lungs. “Will you hand me that rag?”

“Oh, yeah,” Peter said, realizing Harry was leaning over the counter to point to a wet cloth hanging on the soapy tub. Peter took the empty mugs, putting them in the tub to soak and handed Harry the damp cloth.

“Thanks,” Harry winked as he walked over to the tables to wipe them down.

Peter suddenly realized that they were alone. He wasn’t sure when the last people left, or where the time had gone. He knew he could probably leave, but part of him wanted to stay, to keep Harry company.

“You can go if you need to,” Harry said, breaking the silence. “You had lesson plans, right?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, leaning against the counter. “I can put it off an extra thirty minutes. Do you need help?”

Harry pressed his lips together, as if he was contemplating whether or not to allow Peter to stay. Peter almost hated that look. Almost. “Yeah,” Harry nodded. “Yeah, sure. Could you sweep?”

Peter nodded, looking around for the broom, finding it tucked in the corner by the backroom. He started behind the counter, sweeping outward. Soon, he bumped into Harry. Harry’s hand quickly went to Peter’s hip, stopping him from backing up anymore.

“Sorry,” Harry laughed softly. “I should’ve told you I was here.”

“You’re fine,” Peter said, feeling a blush creep over his cheeks. He glanced down, avoiding Harry from catching it. “Watch out for my pile.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, pulling away from Peter and carefully stepping over the line of dirt.

As Peter continued to sweep the café, Harry handled the dirty dishes, taking the soapy tub into the backroom. Peter never got a tour of the café. He actually wasn’t sure how far back it went. He assumed there was somewhat of a kitchen back there, or at least a sink. Or else he wouldn’t know how Harry was handling the dirty dishes.

Soon, Harry moved back, with a new wet rag, wiping down the counters and the espresso machine. Peter swept the dirt pile outside the front door before setting the broom back in the corner.

“Are … are you avoiding Gwen, too?”

“What?” Peter asked, looking up at Harry. He kept his attention on the espresso machine as he cleaned it. “You’re … avoiding Gwen?”

“Does that make me a bad person?” Harry asked quietly, pulling the rag away from the machine, tucking it back into his apron pocket. “I just … don’t know what to say to her.”

“No,” Peter sighed. “I’m avoiding Gwen, too.”

“We went to high school together,” Harry said, leaning against the back counter. “I just … feel like I should’ve done something. Been there for her or something.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, nodding. It almost felt good to talk about this to Harry, unsure if it was because he was opening up to Peter or because he wouldn’t judge him if he’s been through a similar situation. Either way, he wasn’t Mary Jane, and that almost felt enough. “We had a lot of classes together at ESU. We were friends. I bailed on her. I bailed on MJ, too.”

Harry fixed his attention on Peter. “Why?”

“I –“ Well, almost felt good. He couldn’t tell Harry about Spider-Man. “I don’t know. I just felt like I could’ve done more, that I felt responsible –“

“For what happened to Gwen?” Harry wrinkled his brow.

Because Spider-Man didn’t do enough. Because blood was spilt on Peter’s watch. Because Peter couldn’t have done anything more.

“I mean, no,” Peter lied. “I feel guilty for not being there for her.”

Harry nodded. “Me too.”

“And it – it just doesn’t feel right to hang out with her,” Peter said. “I don’t know, there’s just this … feeling that something’s off.”

“Like you don’t deserve to be in her presence,” Harry suggested. “Like, every time you look at her, you think about how you weren’t there for her.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, looking back at Harry. “I felt that way about MJ, too.”

“Do – do you want to talk about that?”

Peter shook his head ‘no’. He felt better about Mary Jane. They talk now and she’s happy, and that’s all that matters to him. “Everything’s good with her.”

“But you still like her?” Harry asked, almost hesitantly.

Peter nodded.

“And she’s with Gwen?” Harry asked, knowing it was more of a statement than anything. Peter nodded again.

“It’s not that it’s awkward,” Peter started. He paused for a beat as he thought it over. “Okay, it’s a little awkward. But that’s not why I’m avoiding Gwen. Or why I avoided MJ. They just … deserve to be happy. And if that’s without me, then that’s how it should be.”

“You deserve to be happy, too.”

“Hm?”

“You deserve to be happy,” Harry said, glancing at his watch before taking his apron off. “If what’s going to make you happy is being friends with them, then try to make that work. You deserve to be happy, too.”

“What about you?” Peter asked, remembering Mary Jane said Harry could use a friend. “Are you happy?”

“I’m … I’m working on that,” Harry said, folding the apron in his hands and setting it on the counter behind him.

A few moments passed in silence before Harry spoke up again.

 “Let -- Let me go grab my wallet from the back,” he said, as he walked to what Peter could only assume was ‘the back.’

“Wait, what for?”

“To pay you,” Harry said from the doorway. “I don’t – I figured that’s how I’d pay you for working today. Otherwise, I’d have to put you on the payroll and you wouldn’t get the paycheck until next week. Just don’t report me to the Better Business Bureau for paying you under the table.”

“We could do that, you know,” Peter shifted in his spot, wishing he could’ve stopped the words before they fell out of his mouth.

“Do what?”

“Put me on the payroll,” Peter said. “I mean, if Mary Jane gets this role, she’s going to be out a lot more. And I could use a little extra cash, if you’re interested in hiring summer help.”

Peter watched as Harry hesitated, as if he was thinking of the pros and cons of hiring on Peter. “Okay,” He said. “Yeah, we can do that. Let me go get the paperwork.”

Peter watched as Harry left the room. He leaned on the counter, wondering why he threw something on his plate that he didn’t need. He already focuses much of his attention on Spider-Manning. And he has to turn in photos to the Bugle if he wants to be the lead Spider-Man freelance photographer. And eventually, he did need to start on those lesson plans. So why, all of a sudden, did he decide he wanted to be a barista at a coffee shop that some rich kid owns?

It wasn’t until Harry walked back out of the breakroom with some papers and a soft smile on his face that Mary Jane’s words hit him.

_‘I know that look.’_

Oh god.

Peter was crushing on Harry.


	2. 'When opportunity rises ... you should take it.'

_P: MJ how do I cancel feelings_

_MJ: He’s single_

_MJ: Just ask him out_

_P: That’s the opposite of what I’m asking_

_P: I didn’t even say who_

_MJ: I’m not dumb_

_P: I don’t want to date him_

_MJ: Then don’t_

_MJ: Or tell him you’re not looking for anything serious_

_MJ: I don’t think he is either_

_P: Are you hooking me up with your exroommate?_

_MJ: You know you don’t have to kiss everyone you meet, right?_

Peter tossed his phone aside and watched it bounce against the mattress. He sighed, almost dramatically. He was too old to be crushing on someone. He felt like he was in junior high and not an adult with a job, bills and student debt.

Peter rolled over on his stomach and buried his head into his pillow, half-hoping he could suffocate himself. Put himself out of his misery.

Peter wasn’t sure how he would be able to turn around and ask Harry to hook up with him after just meeting him. That’s usually not something you ask out loud. That’s what dating apps were for … right? And Peter couldn’t stand anyone on those dating apps. The guys always tried too hard and he could never hold a conversation with the girls. He stopped all together when he realized between teaching and Spider-Man, he wouldn’t have time for a relationship. He realized that when he was dating Mary Jane he just … didn’t think it was still that bad.

Plus, it wasn’t just physical attraction that Peter was feeling. There was something in the way that Harry spoke or the way he softly smiled that told Peter that everything was going to be alright. And Peter couldn’t help but want that to be a reality.

Peter’s phone buzzed.

He rolled over, picking the phone off of his bed.

_23:09_

_Unknown Number: Hey is there a chance you can come in and help tomorrow morning?_

_Unknown Number: This is Harry, btw_

_Unknown Number: Harry Lyman_

_Unknown Number: in case you know a lot of Harrys_

Peter smirked.

_P: Yeah, sure what time?_

_H: 8 to 10:30?_

No.

No, no, nope.

Peter’s summer time is for sleeping in. He was hoping Harry was asking him for his definition of morning: 10:45. Well, that might be pushing it. Peter sighed and texted back.

_P: Yeah, sounds good._

_H: Sweet!_

_H: Breakfast is on me._

_P: How did you get my number?_

_H: MJ_

Peter switched conversations.

_P: You did that on purpose._

_MJ: He needed someone to cover and you needed a push._

_MJ: Win-win._

_P: I don’t need a push._

_MJ: Could’ve fooled me._

\-----

Peter held his phone in his hand as it vibrated with a call. He couldn’t bring himself to answer it. He could hardly look at Mary Jane’s face on the screen, smiling with ease, knowing her voice would be as broken as he feels.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to listen to her voicemail, _if_ she decided to leave another. There were several already in his inbox that he’s collected over the past couple of days. He couldn’t bring himself to listen to any of them.

Peter hasn’t slept well in days – if he even slept.

He couldn’t stop hearing Gwen’s screams. They pulled him awake in a heavy sweat as he remembered what happened just nights ago.

After leaving Gwen, he went to go fight the Goblin, but he was long gone. Peter searched the entire city all night. It wasn’t until daylight did he finally decide to turn in, collapsing on the couch from exhaustion. But he couldn’t sleep. He let George Stacy die. He couldn’t save him.

His blood was on Peter’s hands.

Captain Stacy was the first person Peter saw die in action.

Gwen lost her father because Peter couldn’t act quick enough.

Peter pushed his luck as Spider-Man. He was quick to protect his friends as Spider-Man, pulling them out of harm’s way before harm could even think about finding their direction. Gwen had no clue that Spider-Man encouraging her to leave the scene before it got worse was her friend trying to protect her. She had no clue that was Peter behind the mask.

This lead to Norman finding New York City’s soft spot: The vigilante’s alleged sweetheart and the beloved police captain – her father.

Peter spent the next several days searching for Norman, avoiding going home as he knew Mary Jane would look for him at his apartment. He couldn’t put her in danger, too.

It wasn’t until two weeks after starting his search for the Green Goblin when Peter found him.

Norman was arrested. Lead out of the Oscorp Tower with police officers by his side and his hands behind his back. Peter watched from the opposite building, equal parts frustrated and relieved. He wanted to hurt Norman, to let him know how much Gwen was hurting without her father.

But now, he knew Norman couldn’t hurt anyone else.

But Peter wanted to be the one to bring him down. Spider-Man _needed_ to be the one to bring him down.

Peter thought maybe he could sleep better after Norman’s arrest. The Green Goblin put behind bars should have put his mind at ease. But he still had nightmares about Gwen and her father. He had nightmares about Mary Jane and Aunt May getting hurt. Even of Flash Thompson and Eddie Brock and Betty Brant.

Peter couldn’t put his friends in harm’s way.

He couldn’t put his aunt in harm’s way.

The Goblin was arrested, but there were many more villains out there.

So Peter did the most reasonable thing to do.

He avoided his friends and his aunt and worked twice as hard to fight the villains that flooded New York City.

But Peter also had bills to pay. He had to balance his job at the Daily Bugle on top of fighting crime.

But part of him couldn’t avoid Aunt May.

He worked to keep Spider-Man as far away from Aunt May as possible, even if that meant leaving Spider-Man at home when he went to see her. But May could swear her nephew seemed more distant than he used to be. She brushed the issue off, figuring it was a cause of the near death of one of his friends. She comforted him as much as she could. Peter couldn’t figure out how to tell her that it hurt more when she tried to tell him everything was going to be okay.

And eventually, the text came.

_MJ: I can’t do this anymore_

And Peter finally broke.

Peter cried for the first time since the incident at the George Washington Bridge. While trying to avoid his friends getting hurt, he hurt them by not being there. He knew if he was going to get his friends back, to get Mary Jane back in his life, he was going to have to do a lot of damage repair. Starting with himself first.

\-----

“Hey, there’s a nice familiar face.”

“Somebody’s way too chipper for a morning shift,” Peter laughed, as he adjusted his backpack’s strap. He walked toward the counter, casually looking for a place his bookbag. Half the time, Peter felt ridiculous carrying the old thing. He knew he should find a more adult-looking bag for his notebook and his Spider-Man suit. It’s much easier to hide a backpack in an alleyway than it is to hide a briefcase.

“Espresso practically runs in my veins,” Harry laughed, leaning against the counter before he realized what Peter was doing. “You can put it in the backroom.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, leaning into the room to take a quick look before tossing his backpack beside the wall and out of the way. “I never officially got a tour of the place.”

“There’s not much,” Harry laughed. “This is practically all of it.” He walked out from the counter, grabbing the hook of Peter’s arm as he pulled him to the center of the café. “Seating.”

“Wow,” Peter gasped dramatically. “I’ve never seen seating before.”

“Shut up,” Harry laughed. “You’re the one who asked.” He pointed to the first table by the entrance. “That’s my favorite spot in the whole café. You get a perfect view outside and natural lighting. Plus, it’s one of the few chairs that don’t wobble.”

“Luxurious,” Peter nodded. Harry laughed again, grabbing his arm and pulling him back to the front counter.

“You’re familiar with our bar,” Harry said, rather than suggested. “Ordering counter, sweets display, grinder, espresso machine, pick-up counter.”

“It’s so different from this side,” Peter said. Harry grinned. God, Peter wanted to keep making him smile.

“You know the small cleaning corner,” Harry said, pointing to the broom in the corner. “But there’s more in the back.” He led Peter to the backroom, about double the size of behind the counter. It had a sink for washing dishes, several bags of coffee beans, and a bit more cleaning supplies. Mainly a mop and some chemicals tucked underneath the counter, far away from the beans. There were also some files in boxes, but not enough that Peter actually expected Harry to do the paperwork here. Peter wondered if Harry paid someone to do all of his paperwork. “And the backroom.”

“Magical,” Peter said, glancing down at his bag, tucking it farther back under the counter. “Great tour.”

“I told you it wasn’t much,” Harry laughed as he moved back to the counter. “It’s nothing special.”

“It’s special enough that you have regulars,” Peter suggested. Harry shrugged.

“I think they like the cheap coffee.”

“Where do you get the baked goods from?”

“Sullivan Street on 47th,” Harry said. He brightened. “That reminds me. Breakfast.” He snuck past Peter to the backroom and returned with a white paper bag. “Cinnamon roll, on the house.”

“You’re too sweet,” Peter said, reaching out for the bag. Harry pulled the bag back.

“I can’t believe – it’s too early for puns.”

Peter laughed, reaching back for the bag. “No take backs.”

Harry laughed, attempting to pull it farther away from Peter, making him reach for it, but it also didn’t help that Peter was taller than him and quicker. Peter took the white bag and smiled.

“Thanks,” Peter smirked.

The shopkeeper’s bell rang as a few customers walked in.

“You can get a plate and eat,” Harry suggested. “I can cover.”

“Okay,” Peter said, as he searched the cabinets for the plate. After the first person ordered, Harry finally directed Peter to the plates and silverware. He started the first espresso drink by the time Peter set his cinnamon roll on the plate and took his first bite. “When are you gonna teach me how to use that?” He asked, with a full mouth.

“When we’re slow and I have patience,” Harry said as he poured ice into the plastic cup. “It gets slow around ten, we can try then.”

“You’re telling me you don’t have patience for me now?” Peter said, his mouthful with pastry. Harry hummed, avoiding the question. Peter rolled his eyes. He could hear the ladies at the pick-up counter giggle. Peter wanted to roll his eyes again, but he just tried to fight back his smile and finish his breakfast.

Throughout the morning, Harry showed Peter how to make different drinks as they were ordered. Harry showed Peter how to make a pour over, using the glass carafe shaped like an iodine flask. He explained how the coffee beans differ in espresso than they do from a regular cup of coffee and how coarse the grinds are affect the way the coffee turns out. Even water temperature can alter the taste of the coffee.

“I’m sorry, I just get a little excited about coffee,” Harry laughed as he poured the pour over into two porcelain mugs, one fuller than the other. He set the full mug on the counter, calling for its owner and handing the other to Peter. Like many of the other drinks Harry had made today, he made a little extra, allowing Peter to taste each one. Peter took the mug in his hand, taking a sip, knowing that the more he tested the drinks, the longer he will be out tonight. Caffeine really gets to him.

“You’re fine,” Peter smiled. To be fair, he just loved to hear Harry talk. Even if he was bored with the topic, he’d still listen. “It’s like food science.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, you can put it that way.”

“I mean, it makes sense,” Peter said. “It’s like trial and error when you’re trying to make the perfect cup of coffee and you experiment with different blends or grinds or water temperatures to see how the coffee turns out. It’s just playing with variables.”

“Maybe you’re a little more excited than I am,” Harry laughed. Peter grinned sheepishly.

“I told you science –“

“Is your thing. Right,” Harry smirked.

Not too long afterward did they have a strangling customer come in and order an Americano to go. Harry gestured for Peter to watch him as he made the drink. Peter tried his best to pay attention to Harry’s instructions, but he kept finding himself distracted by Harry himself. God. He’s got to get better about focusing on anything but Harry.

“Okay,” Harry said, vaguely gesturing to Peter. “You try.”

Peter almost didn’t realize that Harry had already gave the drink to the customer, and the customer was already out the door.

“Don’t I need a customer –“ He watched as Harry walked away, Peter half-assumed he was going to the office as Peter tried to make an espresso by himself, but he walked to the front counter and smirked. God. Peter wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, but he couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay. What do you want?”

“That’s not how you speak to all of your customers, do you?” Harry raised an eyebrow, his smirk still planted on his face.

Peter rolled his eyes before putting on his best British accent … which was kind of terrible. “What can I make for you, my dear sir?”

“Your finest espresso shot,” Harry mimicked Peter, with a slightly better accent as he leaned on the counter. He quickly dropped the accent as he refined his order. “Actually, make that an Americano. I don’t want to clean up a mug.”

“Like those mugs are hard to clean,” Peter rolled his eyes as he grabbed a paper cup and grabbed the marker. He hesitated before writing on the cup. “This one’s on the house,” He winked as he moved to the espresso machine. Harry laughed, leaning further on the counter to watch Peter work behind the bar.

He watched as Peter cautiously ground the espresso beans, attempting to get the perfect amount. Once he filled the ground espresso into the portafilter **,** he tampered it. He remembered Harry talking about pressure used to be an important component of tampering, some saying you needed at least 30 pounds of pressure, but Harry told him to focus on leveling. He tried a mix of both. Peter glanced to Harry, catching his glance. Peter smiled, as he moved the portafilter to the machine, starting it. He placed one of the shot glasses underneath, listening to the soft hissing of the espresso starting to pour out. Peter grinned, feeling prideful about making his first espresso, but remembering making it was half the battle. It had to taste good, too. Or, in Peter’s hopes, resembles the taste of espresso.

Once the espresso finished, he poured it into the cup and filled the cup with hot water. He put a lid on the top and the sleeve on. “One Americano for a Mr. Lyman?”

“Thank you, Mr. Parker,” Harry smiled as he took the cup from Peter. He closed his eyes as he enjoyed the warmth of the cup in his palms. “It’s a little too hot,” Harry spoke up. “It’s probably the water. Remind me to check that later.”

“Okay,” Peter laughed. Harry looked up, meeting his eyes with a soft smile. “Stop wasting my time and drink it.”

“Honestly, you need to work on your customer service voice,” Harry smirked. He took a sip of the coffee, closing his eyes as he focused on the taste of the coffee. Peter leaned on the counter, focusing on the look of Harry. His long, dark lashes fluttered against his copper skin. The natural morning light reflected against his dark waves, highlighting the soft red in his hair. His tongue flicked out briefly, licking the espresso off his lips. God. His lips. Peter needed to stop thinking about -- “You taste it.”

“What?” Suddenly, he realized Harry was looking back at him.

“I said its good,” Harry laughed, extending the coffee to him. “Maybe a little too strong, but it’s good. You taste it.”

Peter took the cup hesitantly before tasting it. It was bitter and strong and he wasn’t sure if he actually liked Americanos in the first place. He handed the cup back to Harry, who had a grin on his face.

“Too strong?”

“Nothing’s too strong for me,” Peter lied. He reached behind him, grabbing his water from the back counter and taking a drink. “Nope. Not strong at all. Could’ve been stronger.”

Harry laughed. “The grind was a little too fine, but that’s not too big of a deal. We can fix that.”

 _‘We.’_ The pronoun repeated in Peter’s head. _‘We.’_

“Yeah,” Peter said, pulling his phone out of his pocket, hoping to quickly distract himself from the gorgeous man in front of him.

Three news alerts flashed across the screen from various news sources. They all said the same thing: ‘Spider-Man should be out here.’

“I gotta – I gotta go.” Peter slipped the apron off, extending it to Harry before remembering Harry was on the other side of the counter. He pulled it back to himself before turning around to hang it on a hook. “I … got a text from the editor at the Bugle. There’s some action going on and he needs a photographer.”

“Oh, okay,” Harry nodded, setting his cup down. “You do this a lot?”

Ditching human interactions? Yeah, he did.

“A lot more than I want to,” Peter said as he walked to the backroom to reach behind the door to where he threw his bookbag on the floor. “I stuff my camera in my bag so whenever Jameson texts me, I can get on it.”

“Makes sense,” Harry said, leaning against the counter as he watched Peter. “I’ll catch you later?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Peter nodded, halfway out the door. “Let me know if you need help later today.”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry nodded, as Peter smiled one more time before heading out the door.

Harry sighed, thanking the heavens that he was the only one in the café. He took a long drink of his coffee, half-wishing he didn’t give up alcohol. He could really use some numbing right about now.

Peter was cute. Way too cute for Harry to handle and he should’ve never mentioned adding him to the payroll. Mary Jane should’ve warned him. Should’ve warned that the Peter she was bringing over was ‘that Peter’. Was her ex-boyfriend. Was a heartbreaker. Was gorgeous.

God.

Peter probably doesn’t even _like_ him in that way.

Why should Harry care?

He told himself he was taking a break from relationships. He put too much trust into his relationships, too many second chances. He always found himself too emotionally invested, and it ended with him alone. He’s barely allowing himself to have friends outside of the coffee shop again, starting to build trust in others. After realizing what he went through growing up was not normal, was not alright, Harry had to sit back and evaluate what was justified trust and what was blind, manipulated trust.

Harry probably couldn’t even remember the last time he went on a date. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more he was pretty sure it was with Lily Hollister. He wasn’t even sure how long ago that was. He tried to forget her, too.

He almost downed his coffee. He set it aside, actually glad that it wasn’t alcohol. He’s been clean and substance free for about a year and a half. It took a lot of cold nights to earn those sobriety coins. A lot of cold nights and the promise of being _someone_ better.

And being someone better was focusing on himself and his future, not the future someone else had laid out for him. Not the future that someone else molded. A future that didn’t include his father. Harry turned away from a life of luxury and ease to allow himself to _become himself_. Before he pulled away, he didn’t know who he was. He was the mirror image of his father. A carbon copy just waiting to fill in his shoes. But he never wanted to. He found himself turning more and more to substances to dull the pain, to let him forget his responsibilities, to forget his sadness. But somehow, attempting to forget his sadness always turns around to reminding him how alone he was.

After Gwen’s father died, Harry found himself in therapy. It took him a few sessions before he realized that he wasn’t a burden, that it wasn’t his fault for his father’s disappointments. His father never truly was there for him. He never put him first or never cared for him besides the basic needs of life. Even then, Harry felt ashamed for inconveniencing his father at some of the slightest comments. Harry was never going to be the man that his father wanted him to be, and his father shamed him for that. Through his sessions, Harry learned that _he_ wasn’t the problem. His father was. Harry deserved better and his father failed him, hurt him, made him question his actions.

Harry just wished he didn’t have to overthink so much. That he could put his emotional baggage behind him and allow himself to fall in love carelessly. He wanted to be carefree and in love. But he knew he had to take baby steps. Which meant he probably needed to stop flirting with Peter.

He took the last sip of his coffee before tossing it in the trash. He turned to grab his phone, suddenly realizing that Peter had marked more than just ‘Americano’ on the cup. He picked the cup out of the trash and examined it, feeling a large, goofy grin form in his face.

He turned around and grabbed his phone off the counter and texted Peter.

_H: You’re a dumbass_

_H: I already have your number you didn’t need to write it like some sort of romcom moment_

_H: I literally texted you last night._

Peter’s response came almost an hour later.

_P: You texted me though_

_P: You fell for it_

_H: You really think my name is spelled with one r?_

_P: It’s a joke_

_P: Like Starbucks_

_H: Oh lol_

Twenty minutes went by before Peter texted back.

_P: Let me know if you need help this evening, I’m spending my afternoon at the Bugle so I’m in the area._

_H: Thanks for the offer, but I got some college students covering tonight_

_P: Oh cool_

Another twenty minutes past before Peter sent another text.

_P: Do you want to do something tonight?_

_P: Like a movie or dinner?_

Harry hesitated. He knew he shouldn’t ask. That he should accept it as a hangout and nothing more. But his curiosity wouldn’t stop there.

_H: Like a date?_

_P: Yeah_

Harry barely had time to process the text, let alone breathe, before Peter texted back.

_P: We can go as friends if you’re not feeling that_

Harry told himself that he was taking a break from relationships.

That he was focusing on himself.

But … Peter was cute.

_H: No_

_H: Let’s go out_

Spider-Man grinned as he held his phone in one hand and his camera in the other. He didn’t have enough time to really set it up before jumping into actions, so most of his photos were blurry. He needed to spend his afternoon, making it up to the Daily Bugle and to his wallet. He had a moment of clarity **,** as if it punched him in the face. Well, the Lizard punched him in his face.

Peter realized if he didn’t act on his feelings, he was going to hate himself every time he went in to work at the coffee shop, whether or not he was working with Harry. That eventually, his crush would get too big leaving him with an ultimatum: to ask Harry out or leave the coffee shop. And the fact that he couldn’t get Harry off his mind the entire fight with the Lizard made his options clear.

So as soon as the Lizard was taking care of, he picked up his camera and found a nice rooftop several blocks away, planning to ask Harry out. It took him a few tries before it actually happened and now he couldn’t stop grinning.

His phone buzzed. He wondered if Harry had texted him back for a place or time.

_MJ: See? Told you, little push._

_P: Do you guys gossip about me behind my back?_

_MJ: No of course not_

Peter groaned.

\-----

Dinner and a movie. That was their plan. Well, burgers and the discount theater.

Peter went to the Coffee Bean to pick Harry up, knowing his shift was just finishing up. He was cleaning the counter as he talked to two teenagers. At first, Peter thought they were customers, but soon realized they donned the same aprons that Harry wore. When Harry spotted Peter, he brightened. He said something to the boys before hanging up his apron behind him.

“Hey Pete,” Harry said as he walked over. “You set?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded. “They’re your relief team?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Miles and Ganke. Miles is one of the shift leads.”

“Isn’t he a kid?” Peter asked light-heartedly. Harry laughed, putting his hand in the hook of Peter’s arm, leading him out of the coffee shop with one last goodbye to the boys.

“He’s eighteen,” Harry said. “They know how to put small fires out. They know how to call 911. They’re fine.”

“Can they reach the top shelf?” Peter laughed. He felt Harry relax against him, his hand slide from his elbow allowing their arms to lock.

“Collectively, yes,” Harry grinned. “They’re both smart kids. They’re going to Empire State in the fall.”

“I like them already,” Peter smiled. “Come on, we got a date to make.”

On the way to the burger joint, Peter secretly hoped that Harry would say _something_ that made him not want to date him. But the more they talked, the more Peter wanted to pursue this relationship. He felt like he could make it work.

Harry talked about how the past few years made him appreciate the MTA and how the coffee shop changed the way he viewed a lot of things. And how “when opportunity rises,” He said, knocking his knee against Peter’s while they were sitting on the subway, waiting for their stop. “You should take it.”

“Are you suggesting something, Mr. Lyman?” Peter grinned, leaning in to Harry, fully planning to kiss him. But the jolting stop of the subway quickly ruined his opportunity. Harry quickly moved his hand to Peter’s chest, stopping him from headbutting him in his attempt for a kiss.

“I was,” Harry laughed. “But I meant sending your resume to your old high school.”

“Oh,” Peter said, feeling a blush pull to his cheeks. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Harry laughed, pulling Peter to his feet. “Come on, this is our stop. Hurry.”

The restaurant was small, local, a hole in the wall. Something that Harry talked about the entire way. And to Peter’s relief, it looked decently cheap. Or in his price range. He figured he’d cover the check since he asked Harry out. It was his treat.

But … he knew if the rich boy had offered to pay, he’d let him.

They turned down the drinks menu whenever the waiter had brought it round, just keeping it simple with waters. The waiter tried offering it again, promising a nice cold beer would pair well with their burgers before the two admitted that they don’t drink before the waiter accepted defeat and went to turn in their order.

“So, you don’t drink?” Harry asked conversationally.

“No, it just –“ messes with his spider-sense. Peter can’t be at fault for getting someone hurt because he had alcohol in his system. “Doesn’t sit well with me. You?”

“I … had an alcohol problem,” Harry said, sheepishly. “So I avoid it.”

“Understandable,” Peter said, a little curious but knew it wasn’t a first date conversation. “How long have you owned the Coffee Bean?”

“Uh,” Harry hesitated, thinking. “A little over a year.”

“How did you become the owner?”

“The original owner was having a hard time making ends meet,” Harry explained. “I was a barista for a while and I still had a little bit of funds left and I ended up buying it from him so he could retire.”

“Oh cool,” Peter said. “That’s really cool. Like,” he raised his fist half-heartedly, as if he was a cheerleader cheering on the football team at their last home game down 40 to nothing, “Go local businesses.”

Harry laughed. Peter thought his joke was dumb and he definitely could have done better, but as long as he pulled a smile on Harry’s face, he was happy with the result.

But not a second later, he watched the smile and the light in Harry’s eyes dim quickly. “Oh shit,” he mumbled, looking behind Peter. Peter turned around, at first, looking for someone in the crowd behind them, but his eyes quickly went to the television, normally displaying major sports games, but currently tuned to the news. A photo of Norman Osborn dead center of the television with the breaking news text scrolling across the bottom of the screen: “High security prison break. Norman Osborn, others escape.”

“Oh shit,” Peter repeated, slumping in his seat. God. He hoped Gwen was okay. Peter was unsure if he needed to leave, so Spider-Man to fix the situation. He knew he had the responsibility to do so, but he didn’t have any leads. The most he could do was sit here and enjoy his date with Harry. He’ll patrol all night to pay the city back.

Peter turned back in his seat, turning his attention back to Harry, who still looked on ease about the situation.

“Hey,” Peter said, knocking his knee against Harry’s gently. “Everything will be okay the police are probably already looking for him.”

“Yeah,” Harry said softly. He exhaled before nodded. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Peter studied Harry, curious to his concern. He brushed it off, knowing that he had mentioned he went to high school with Gwen, that maybe he’s also concerned for Gwen’s safety. It wasn’t until Harry locked eyes with him momentarily that it hit Peter. “Oh shit,” Peter whispered, the wires connecting as he remembered the known facts about Norman Osborn. “You’re – you’re his son.” 

Harry nodded gently, eyes shut. God. Peter should’ve seen the resemblance earlier. Harry was the spitting image of his father – no. He was much gentler than the older man. Much kinder. Much more caring.

After a few moments of silence, Harry spoke up. “I don’t … I don’t speak to him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I wasn’t,” Peter promised.

“I cut ties to him,” Harry said softly. “My life, money, name. I didn’t want to be associate with him.” 

Peter reached across the table, grabbing Harry’s hand. “Everything will be alright.”

Harry exhaled slowly, nodding. “The police will handle everything,” he said, more to himself than to Peter.

“Yeah,” Peter said, softly squeezing Harry’s hand. “Now, tell me, Mr. Lyman, what movie are we seeing tonight?”

Harry smiled softly. “I was planning on something dumb and sweet, but now I’m kind of leaning toward comedy.”

“I’d be down for that,” Peter smiled back.

And soon, they were back on track with a normal conversation. No more estranged fathers, no talks about the now free supervillains that may be heading their way to New York. They put the thoughts to the back of their head, hoping it wasn’t something they had to deal with tonight.

Conversation between the two almost flowed naturally. Talking about future endeavors, how Harry wanted to eventually expand the Coffee Bean into a roasting company and how Peter eventually wanted to move back to Queens to teach at his old high school. He could commute from Brooklyn, but Queens was his home, not Manhattan and not Brooklyn.

“The check,” the waiter said, setting it down between the two after the delicious meal. Peter took it before Harry could consider taking it. He glanced at the price before digging in his wallet for a few bills. He tucked them in the billfold, closing it.

“Don’t we have a movie to make it to?” Peter asked, standing up from the table. Harry smiled, standing up from the table, grabbing Peter’s hand to walk him out. Before they left, Peter took one last glance at the television, regretting it instantly. The news went from covering Norman Osborn’s escape to Doctor Octopus attacking lower Manhattan. He swore under his breath.

He walked Harry a few blocks, letting the Doctor Octopus situation eat at him before he finally decided to pull out his phone, glancing at the notifications.

“I gotta go,” Peter said, pulling Harry into a stop.

“You gotta go?”

“My Aunt she’s –“ God. Where was Peter going with this? “She fell. I need to go and check on her.”

“Oh shit,” Harry said. “Yeah, yeah. Go do that. We can catch a movie some other time.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, pulling away from Harry. He took two steps in the opposite direction before turning back around. He reached out and pulled Harry in, pressing a soft kiss against his lips. It took Harry a moment of shock before he slowly kissed back. Peter pulled away, dumb smile on his face. “Thanks for a great dinner date. Rain check on the movie, I promise.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed, nodded. Peter pulled away from him, slowly starting in the opposite direction. “Yeah, we need to do that. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tell me when and I’ll be there,” Peter said, before taking off in a full sprint.

“When,” Harry said softly. He brought his finger to his lip, closing his eyes thinking about Peter’s soft kiss. He swore under his breath. He didn’t mean to fall this hard.


	3. 'I’ll be here with you.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: forgot to name the chapter lmao

Peter spent way too many hours at the Coffee Bean for someone who only worked part-time hours there and for someone who previously only drank burnt coffee from the pot. But … it just felt better than borrowing an empty cubical at the Bugle to work or to grab a quick bite between photo opportunities. He knew he probably should bring a lunch, that nobody would judge him if he pulled a sandwich out of his bag, but he felt bad just ordering a black coffee and nothing else while he sat in the café. So over the next week, he ate too many carbs.

At first, Harry was hesitant to bug Peter, knowing that he was working. Peter took up most of his table with his lesson plans, leaving the smallest area available for his lunch. That and a small clear spot across from him, on the opposite side of the table. As if he was waiting for someone to sit with him. Harry had thought he might have been meeting with another teacher, so he refused to actually sit with him. He went over, checked up on him, flirted with him a few times and hovered over the chair. His fingers ached, wanting to loosen their grip on the chair’s backing, and pull it out for him to sit down. But Harry couldn’t bring himself to do it, to sit with Peter while he was working.

It was much easier on the third day that Peter came in. His work spread out, leaving an empty spot, for his lunch and black coffee, and another across from him.

“Try this,” Harry said, setting down a soft purple drink in front of him.

“I’m afraid to ask what it is,” Peter smirked as he watched Harry sat down across from him. “I don’t intake anything that’s artificially colored.”

“You have a package of Jolly Ranchers on the table you can’t tell me that,” Harry laughed. “It’s lavender lemonade. I’m trying out a new syrup.”

“And I’m you’re guinea pig?” Peter scoffed, attempting to be hurt. But he couldn’t fight back his smile. He took the straw and sipped, nodding. “It’s good. Definitely different, but it’s good.”

 “Good,” Harry smiled, noticing Peter’s lesson plans in front of him. “Are you … waiting for someone?”

“Yeah, actually,” Peter said, taking another drink of the lemonade. “You.”

“I’m … here?”

“Yeah,” Peter laughed. “But you’ve been all over the coffee shop. I just was hoping to spend a little bit of lunch time with you.”

“Oh,” Harry said, sheepishly. “Sorry –“

“No, you didn’t know,” Peter shrugged, eating the last bite of his Danish. “I need to head off soon anyway. Same time tomorrow?”

Harry laughed. “I’ll show up on time.”

“Sweet,” Peter grinned as he gathered his papers, putting them into a hard folder and slipping it into his backpack. He swung his backpack over his shoulder, picked up the purple lemonade and walked to the other side of the table. He pressed a soft kiss against Harry’s cheek. “I’ll text you later.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “Talk to you later.”

Peter barely took one step before Harry reached out and grabbed his wrist. He stood up and pulled Peter back with ease and kissed him, a gentle and sweet kiss, quickly finding themselves bordering ‘a little too long for a coffee shop’ kiss.

“I –“ Peter breathed, a little surprised by the kiss. “Can I see you tonight?”

”I’ll see if Miles can handle the shop by himself,” Harry said, nodding. “Meet you here?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, hesitant to pull away. He pressed another quick, soft kiss on Harry’s lips before pulling away. “Tonight, yeah.” He stepped away. “Tonight.”

“You said that,” Harry laughed.

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, halfway out the door. “Tonight,” He grinned.

“Tonight,” Harry repeated.

\-----

 “How do I look?” Peter asked, fixing his tie in the mirror. He turned around to face Mary Jane.

“Like a nervous wreck,” She laughed, stepping forward to fix his tie. He surrendered, knowing that if he continued to mess with it, he would make it worse. “C’mon, Petey. You’ll be fine.”

“It’s just the fifth one I’ve done this semester,” Peter leaned his head back and whined. “I’m just getting tired of –“ Mary Jane slipped her hand underneath his shirt, placing her palm against his stomach. “MJ, we don’t have time for –“

“I’m checking for your Spidey suit,” She grinned, pulling her hand back out and putting it against his side. “You missed out on a few of those because duty called.”

“Duty rightfully called,” Peter said defensively. “That apartment was engulfed in flames.”

“And the two burglaries that clearly were being handled by the NYPD?” Mary Jane asked, eyebrow raised.

“They needed help,” Peter said. “I couldn’t just let them. I have a responsibility.”

“Yeah, you do,” Mary Jane nodded. “It’s to finish your degree. And you can’t do that without student teaching and to student teach --”

“I need to show up for the interview –“

“You need to _nail_ the interview,” Mary Jane corrected. “Which you can do.”

Peter groaned, leaning his head against hers.

“C’mon, Tiger,” Mary Jane said, taking his hand in hers. “I’ll walk you to the subway.”

Peter tried to imagine what it would be like if they were still together. If she would walk him to the school on his first day of student teaching. If she would tease him, pretending that she was his mother as she tried to embarrass him in front of the middle schoolers. Or if she would meet him on his lunch breaks. She didn’t work too far from the school, and they used to go to the deli right across from the gym where she taught.

No.

Peter wasn’t allowed to go there anymore. He wouldn’t let himself. That was _her_ place. No matter how much he loved their pastrami subs. No matter how much he missed her.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to bump into her. It was actually quite the opposite. He wanted to see her again. He wanted to try to make things right. He just … didn’t know how to do that. He knew he should apologize. He just wasn’t sure where to start.

He was sorry for being emotionally detached.

He was sorry for not communicating better.

He was sorry for leaving her, Gwen, and the rest of their friends in the dark.

The list could continue.

Maybe Peter should write the list and give that to Mary Jane to apologize. A blanket apology for everything he’s ever done wrong. Peter sighed internally. He’s going to need a lot of paper.

“In and out,” he told himself.

He had a long lunch, much longer than any of the actual teachers. He only taught two of the classes by himself, the rest were observatory. And, luckily, he didn’t need to stay for the study hall period that followed lunch. He took a deep breath before going into the deli, feeling waves of memories flood in. He almost regretted coming in, until he smelled the fresh bread. He walked to the counter and ordered as nothing has changed. He swore he could almost hear Mary Jane.

“Peter?”

Peter turned around, eyes big. God. She looked beautiful as ever. “Oh my god, MJ.”

“Hey, Pete,” Mary Jane said. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I … I teach –“ Peter pointed over his shoulder, toward the deli counter awkwardly. “At MS 447.”

“Is that the –“

“The science one,” Peter nodded.

“You student teach?” Mary Jane asked, putting her hand in the hook of Peter’s arm, pulling him out of the way so others can order.

“I student teach,” Peter nodded again.

“Congrats on nailing the interview,” Mary Jane smiled. God. Peter never wanted that smile to leave. The man behind the counter called Mary Jane’s order. She reached past Peter for her sandwich and water bottle. “See ya around, Tiger.”

Peter felt butterflies in his stomach.

“MJ,” Peter said, reaching out to touch her arm. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

Mary Jane pressed her lips together, as if he she was trying to figure out whether she actually wanted to forgive him. She finally gave in, giving a soft smirk. “You can tell me over lunch on Thursday what all you’ve done wrong.”

“You got a long lunch hour?” Peter grinned. Mary Jane laughed. And for a moment, Peter thought maybe things could go back to the way they were.

That was until he started to apologize Thursday over their sub sandwiches in the park near Peter’s school. “I’m really sorry about everything, MJ,” Peter said, unsure if he was still apologizing or ending his apology. “I really mean it. I shouldn’t have abandoned you --“

“Or Gwen,” Mary Jane reminded, taking a sip of her lemonade.

“Or Gwen,” Peter nodded. “Can you forgive me?”

“Yeah, Peter,” Mary Jane nodded. “I’ve told you a few times already –“ She laughed gently. “You don’t need to keep apologizing.”

“I told you I would,” Peter softly smiled. “I really am sorry, MJ. I love you, I really do. I shouldn’t have left you in the dark.”

Something in Peter’s apology made Mary Jane tense and look away briefly. Maybe Peter went too far by continuing apologizing. Maybe he should apologize.

“I’m –“

“I’m dating Gwen,” Mary Jane said, turning her attention back to Peter.

“You’re dating … Gwen?”

“Yeah, Pete,” Mary Jane said, folding up her sub wrap. “I didn’t – It felt like we broke up. We did. And Gwen and I were there for each other and it just … happened.”

“Oh,” Peter said.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Peter said. “You found someone to make you happy who’s not a big disappointment.”

“Don’t say it like that. All sad like,” Mary Jane laughed, knocking her shoulder into Peter. “You will always be my favorite disappointment.”

“Gee. Thanks, MJ,” Peter laughed.

“There’s someone out there for you,” MJ said earnestly. “They just have to be dumb enough to get past your big ego.”

“Thanks, life coach,” Peter groaned. “Surely, the wound will hurt much less with that salt rubbed into it.”

 “I’m thinking about charging,” Mary Jane winked. “I teach in 30, so I need to go. Catch you same time next week?”

“Next week?” Peter repeated.

“Yeah. For lunch,” Mary Jane said. “You know, what we were just doing? As a weekly thing.”

“Uh, yeah,” Peter nodded. “You okay with that? _Gwen_ okay with that?”

“Yeah, of course,” Mary Jane said, getting up and brushing whatever dirt was on her clothes off. “After this stops being awkward, she can join us.”

“Y-yeah,” Peter said softly, nodding. “That would be … good. Not at all awkward.”

“If you’re not comfortable, you can tell me,” Mary Jane laughed.

“I’m comfortable,” Peter said, palms forward defensively. “I promise.”

“Whatever you say, Tiger.”

\-----

“Hey, say ‘cheese’,” Peter said, approaching the counter. Harry looked up, noticing Peter angling his camera. He gave a soft smile, attempting to avoid it before he heard the shutter click. “Come on, let me get a few good ones.”

“So you can sell my face to the Daily Bugle?” Harry laughed. Peter quickly snapped a photo.

“Yeah, actually,” Peter admitted. Harry scoffed. “No, listen. So, like, every week there’s a piece about businesses – local businesses, like mom and pop shops and –“ He gestured to Harry. “Little coffee houses. And I was talking to the business editor and I told him about you – your shop. I definitely just told him about your shop.”

“Are you gossiping with your coworkers about me?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

“What stays between me and Robbie is completely confidential,” Peter said. “And it’s different. You gossip with MJ –“

“She said she was keeping that secret.”

“She’s MJ,” Peter reminded. “Anyway, Robbie said that he’d send a reporter over tomorrow if you want to talk.”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, hanging up his apron.

“It could help with business,” Miles piped up. Harry and Peter looked at him. He shrugged. “I assumed that if we’re talking about my place of work I can be involved in the conversation.”

“He’s not wrong,” Peter said. “I mean, about helping with business. Not him butting into our conversations.”

“I’m not wrong about both of those situations,” Miles said.

“Fine,” Harry said, leaning over the counter seductively. He smirked, lowering his voice. “Make sure the photos are racy.”

Peter grinned, snapping a photo.

“God, please don’t,” Miles groaned. “My grandma comes here I can’t – yeah, just don’t.”

Harry stood up laughing. Peter took a picture, instantly pulling a blush on Harry’s face. “I wasn’t prepared –“

“It’s candid,” Peter grinned. Miles rolled his eyes, muttering something about cleaning tables as he grabbed a rag and walked away from the counter. “Okay, but really. Stand up, angle yourself a little, and smile.”

Harry did as he was told. Peter took several photos in a row, sometimes telling a bad joke in the middle to bring a more natural smile to Harry’s face. Peter eventually relaxed, pulling the camera down to flip through the photos. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

“Shut up. Let me see,” Harry laughed as he made his way around the counter.

“Nope,” Peter said, quickly turning off his camera. “You’ll have to see when it’s in the paper.”

Harry sighed in defeat. “So what’s our plan for tonight?”

“I figured we could have a night in,” Peter said, wrapping his arm around Harry’s waist. “Order pizza, stream a movie. _Someone_ has the both of us scheduled for an opening shift.”

“Hm, I wonder who that could be.”

“Can you guys be gross somewhere else?” Miles groaned. “I’d like to not clean up vomit tonight.”

“Fine,” Harry laughed. He grabbed Peter’s hand, leading him out of the coffee shop. “But only because I owe you one.”

“Owing me one does _not_ count for saving me from cleaning up my own vomit,” Miles called after them.

\-----

Twenty-five minutes.

That’s how long they had before their pizza arrived. Enough time to pick out a movie, or at least, narrow down a genre. That is, until they saw Will Smith’s face plastered across the Netflix homepage. His new film sounded interesting, so they started it as they waited for the pizza.

 Fifteen minutes.

That’s how far they made it into the film before deciding that they were more interested in each other than Will Smith. It started with them sitting next to each other, several inches apart before Peter scooted in closer, leaning himself on Harry. It didn’t take much longer before they found themselves lip-locked, softly moaning between kisses and touches. Peter slowly worked his hands under Harry’s shirt, taking in the warmth of his skin against his palms.

It wasn’t much longer before Peter guided Harry on his back, straddling him as he deepened the kiss. Harry tangled his fingers in Peter’s brown locks, running his free hand down Peter’s back and wrapping it around his waist.

Seven minutes.

That’s how long they made out before Peter moved his mouth across Harry’s jaw, finding a new spot against his neck. He prefaced his actions with a gentle kiss, causing Harry to extend his neck allowing for more. He nipped at the skin, pulling a breathy moan from Harry, before he started to suck on his skin. Harry tightened his grip in Peter’s hair, moving his other hand to grip Peter’s shoulder. Peter rocked his hips into Harry’s, pulling another moan from his lips. Harry loosened his grip in Peter’s hair before tightening again. “Peter --“ Harry moaned as Peter nipped at his skin again before finding a new spot on his neck.

Two minutes.

That’s how long went by before Harry spoke up. “Peter, I –“ His breath hitched as he felt Peter’s hand move dangerously close to his crotch. Harry moved both hands to Peter’s chest, gently pushing upward. Peter got the message, pulling up. “I can’t.”

“You … can’t?” Peter said, slightly out of breath. Harry closed his eyes and nodded, not wanting to repeat himself. Peter studied Harry for a moment before slipping off of him. “Got it.”

Thirty seconds.

That’s how long they sat in silence before the doorbell rang. Harry instantly jumped up, grabbing his wallet off the coffee table and met the pizza guy at the door.

Peter ran his hand through his hair, trying to think where he went wrong. Maybe he went too fast. Maybe he should’ve assumed that this wasn’t _like_ that. Everything felt natural and wanted, their bodies moving together. He just … figured everything was going well.

Harry sat the pizza down on the coffee table in front of Peter and quickly moved to the kitchen for the plates. When he came back, he sat down on the opposite side of the couch, keeping his distance from Peter. Peter watched quietly as Harry opened the pizza box and found the perfect slice of pizza.

“I’m sorry –“

“No,” Harry said softly. “Don’t apologize, I just … I just want to take things slow.”

“Slow,” Peter nodded. “Got it.”

Harry bit his lip. He glanced at Peter, attempting to read him before turning his attention back to his pizza slice. “If that’s not what you want –“

“No, hey,” Peter leaned over, squeezing Harry’s knee. “We can take things slow.”

“I’d like that,” Harry smiled softly. Peter smiled back as he leaned off of Harry and got himself a slice of pizza. “Can we – can we start tonight over?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. Reaching for the controller to start the movie over. “We can do that.”

Twenty-five minutes in, Peter’s phone buzzed. He carefully slipped it out of his pocket checking the news notification.

_DOCTOR OCTOPUS ATTACKS ALCHEMEX, DEMANDING SHARES AND PROJECT OWNERSHIP_

Peter swore under his breath. He leaned off of Harry, locking his phone. He knew he had to go. A wash of guilt came over him. He’s already dashed on Harry too many times, but he couldn’t avoid Doctor Octopus for pizza and a Will Smith movie. If he did … someone would get hurt and it would be his fault.

“Hey, my aunt just texted me,” Peter said, readjusting himself on the couch awkwardly. “She’s … she’s still hurting from the fall.”

“Oh shit,” Harry said, pausing the movie. “Did you take her to the ER or an urgent care?”

“She’s … stubborn,” Peter said. “She didn’t want to go. But I need to go and check on her.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “Yeah, you should do that.”

“I’ll try to convince her to go,” Peter said, standing up. He slipped the bookbag strap over his shoulder, letting it hang loosely.

“You really should,” Harry nodded. He tried to hold back his disappointment, as the thought Peter was leaving was _because of him_ was playing at the back of his mind. “It would be good for her to at least get a doctor’s opinion.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, catching the disappointment. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against Harry’s cheek. “I’ll tell her the cute boy I’m dating told me to take her there.”

“Yeah,” Harry smiled. “Do that. See you tomorrow.”

Peter said a quick goodbye as he started toward the door. He took one final glance at Harry, feeling his heart ache, wanting to stay with him. But he had a job to do. He had to protect New York City.

\-----

Peter groaned as he rolled over, finally hitting snooze on his alarm. He rubbed his eyes, trying to fight the need to go back to sleep. He needed to get out of bed and into the shower before heading to the coffee shop for the opening shift. He glanced at the time, trying to decide if he had a few more minutes of sleep before he really need to get out of bed.

Peter jumped out of bed and darted out of his room.

He overslept.

“Shit,” he muttered as he quickly ran to the bathroom to wash his face and attempt to hide the smell of sweat with deodorant and cologne. “Shit, shit, shit.” He grabbed a shirt, quickly smelling it before throwing it on. He reached for his pants before realizing that he’d get to Hell’s Kitchen a lot quicker if he wasn’t Peter Parker.

“Shit,” he mumbled as he worked the shirt off quickly grabbing his suit. He threw it on, throwing his clothes for the day in his bag. He grabbed his phone, realizing that he had several missed texts from Harry.

_Thursday 8:21_

_H: Hey you coming in?_

_8:34_

_[Missed phone call]_

_8:45_

_H: Did you forget?_

_H: I mean we were joking about it yesterday, so I didn’t think you would_

_8:59_

_[Missed phone call]_

_9:10_

_H: Peter are you okay?_

_H: Is your aunt okay?_

_9:32_

_H: If this is about last night you can just say it._

“Shit,” Peter said, running his hand through his hair.

_10:02_

_P: I’m so sorry_

_P: I overslept_

_P: I’ll be there asap_

Peter put his phone into his bag, putting his mask on and quickly leaving through the window. He didn’t meant to be out until three last night. It just … happened. Sometimes, it does. It’s just one crime fight after another. And sometimes, it felt like a stress reliever, but Doc Ock had drained most of his energy.

Doc Ock had been overflowing with excitement and freedom, ready to take back what was his. Several blueprints, unfinished projects, completed inventions, all lost in the dissolving of Oscorp, which its employees and many of its projects were bought by Alchemex with no hesitation from the Osborn heir.

Doc Ock wanted what was considered _his_. With several blueprints in his arms and several blue bruises forming on Spider-Man’s body, Doc Ock couldn’t help but grin as he told him that this was only the beginning.

“Your troubles are only beginning, Spider-Man,” Doc Ock grinned. “It may begin with me but it certainly doesn’t end here. Only moments passing will tell you how much longer you have until we unite.”

“We?” Spider-Man asked. “As in you and your second personality? When does Jekyll show up?”

“We as in the Sinister Six,” Doc Ock laughed. “We will be the end of you, Spider-Man.”

Peter arrived at the coffee shop, quickly finding refuge in the back as he quickly changed in the alleyway. He shoved his suit into his backpack and pulled out his phone, barely looking at it before he ran around the building and into the coffee shop.

The shopkeeper’s bell loudly announced Peter’s entrance, pulling only one set of eyes toward him.

“Pete, you didn’t – how did you make it here so fast?” Harry asked as Peter approached the counter.

“I ran,” Peter said, setting his bag against the wall in the backroom and slipped his phone into his pocket. “I honestly should’ve considered track in high school, I could’ve got a better scholarship in college.”

“You ran … from Brooklyn?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, walking to the sink to wash his hands. “You know. Running. With your feet.”

“From _Brooklyn_.”

“Not all the way,” Peter said, attempting to fix his lies. He dried his hands on the towel. Peter pulled out his phone, checking the time: 10:19. He made the trip a lot quicker than he thought. “Only at the spots where I missed the buses. I texted you when I jumped on the subway.”

“Okay,” Harry said, leaning against the counter. “You didn’t have to come. I texted you that.”

“I just checked my phone,” Peter said, shrugging. “Plus, I promised you I’d help open.”

“Opening was two hours ago,” Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re a little late.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Peter said, running his hand through his hair. Harry took a step toward Peter, reaching for Peter’s hair and pushing it back carefully.

“Shit, dude,” He muttered, his voice quiet and full of concern. “Who did that you do?”

“What?” Peter said, reaching up to touch his forehead, flinching at his own touch. There must have been a bruise or a laceration on his forehead. He didn’t look long enough in the mirror to notice. “Oh. I – I hit my head.”

“On what?” Harry asked surprised. “It looks like … a taxi hit you.”

“A taxi would’ve been better,” Peter sighed. “Less embarrassing, too. Would you believe me if I told you it was a wrench I dropped whenever I was fixing my sink?”

“I think you should stick to the taxi story,” Harry said in disbelief, as if he’s heard that excuse before. He stepped back. “You sure nobody hit you?”

“I promise,” Peter lied. Otto Octavius did lay a few punches on Peter. He knew if there was still a bruise on his forehead, he must have plenty that are hidden under his shirt. “Nobody hit me.”

Harry studied Peter for a moment too long, as if he still didn’t believe him. After accepting defeat, he let a soft smile break through his serious demeanor. “Do you want a Band-Aid for emotional support?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Peter laughed, missing Harry’s comforting touch. He knew he would be fine within a few hours. That there would barely be a scar, or even a sign that he was hurt. “Do you need a break? I can relieve you if you want to go take a catnap somewhere?”

“I … Yeah, actually,” Harry said, slipping off his apron and handing it to Peter. “Not a catnap, but I need to balance the books if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah, nope, I can handle myself,” Peter said slipping on the apron. “I mean, I’ll just panic a bit when someone orders more than one drink at a time or alters their order away from a simple espresso drink -- “

“I get it,” Harry laughed. “I’m not leaving. I’m grabbing the notebook out of the backroom. I can even stay behind the counter with you.”

“It’s whatever,” Peter said, crossing his arms attempting to play it off cool. “However you feel, I mean.”

“Okay,” Harry laughed, walking into the backroom before returning with the bookkeeping notebook and several statements. “I’m going to sit up front. You can … you can make us a drink and sit up with me if you want.”

”Okay.” Peter didn’t want to agree with Harry. He _wanted_ to sit up with him, but he was actually a little worried about making the drinks. He’s only made a few, and he’d feel more comfortable making a complete stranger a coffee rather than making his … _employer_ one. He took his time, remembering all the steps Harry had previously taught him. He almost attempted to steam milk before remembering how his last attempt went. Plus, making a cold drink sounded a lot better than something hot. He finished the iced lattes bringing them over to Harry, cautiously setting it around the pages.

“This feels familiar,” Peter grinned. “Try this.”

Harry looked up, softly smiling. “Can I ask what it is?”

“Iced latte,” Peter said, taking a sip of his own drink. “But you have to guess the syrup.”

“You’re a dork,” Harry laughed before tasting the drink. He took a moment, as if he was letting the sip cover every single taste bud before guessing. “Hazelnut?”

“Man, you’re good,” Peter said, leaning back. “Is it good?”

“Yeah. Really good,” Harry nodded, taking another drink. “How’s your aunt?”

“What?”

“Your aunt,” Harry said. “Did you take her to an urgent care?”

“Oh,” Peter said, quickly stumbling for an excuse. “Yeah, we were there all night. Bruised hipbone. It could’ve been worse. She’s on a ‘take-it-slow’ prescription, direct orders from the doctor.”

“Oh shit, yeah,” Harry nodded. “That could’ve been worse. Glad it wasn’t.”

“Me too,” Peter mumbled, looking away. He felt bad for using his aunt as an excuse, she was actually pretty healthy for her age. But a fall like that could really hurt her. And now, he couldn’t introduce Harry to her for a while without him bringing it up and Aunt May acting completely clueless.

“I’m sorry for last night,” Harry said softly. Peter looked back at Harry, who kept his attention glued to the notebook. “You don’t have to ... you know, if you don’t want to.”

“Hey, no,” Peter said, gently knocking his knee against Harry’s. “Slow is good. Slow’s actually probably a lot better than attempting to hook up with you on the first-and-a-half date.”

Harry attempted to hide back a smile. “Thanks,” He said softly, turning half of his attention back to the books.

“Hey, I’m only having a half day tomorrow at the Bugle,” Peter said. “So, if you need me in the afternoon, I’m all yours. I mean, I’d be on call if some bad guy tries to blow up the Baxter Building again.” Peter almost hated how much that was the truth.

“That would be great,” Harry grinned. “I’m actually working all day tomorrow. So if you could run an errand for me that would be great.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“And bring a copy of the Daily Bugle tomorrow,” Harry said. “Your reporter friend came in this morning and we talked for a bit.”

“Absolutely,” Peter grinned. “I’m glad to hear.”

\-----

_Friday 13:31_

_P: Left the roasters_

_P: roastery?_

_P: The bean home._

_H: All of the above work_

_H: Except that last one_

_P: On the C, be there soon_

_P: or should I say_

_P: C U soon_

_H: Ha, funny_

Harry smiled, leaning back on the counter as he overlooked their texts. The coffee shop was completely empty, allowing Harry to completely bask himself in the joy of Peter’s texts, even as mundane as they are. There was just … _something_ about having someone to text on a regular basis. Even if this was just about an errand he was having Peter run. Half of his amusement played on imaginary conversations he had with incoming customers.

‘Who’s making you smile like that?’ They’d ask.

‘My boyfriend,’ Harry would grin as he locked his phone and help them with their order.

Harry wrinkled his brow. They weren’t boyfriends. They just went on a date and a half. They kissed a couple of times. They mentioned going out again for a movie, but Peter didn’t make an indication going to do it any time soon. Harry tried not to over think it, but Peter had left him alone in the apartment soon after he told him he wanted to take things slow. What if Harry wasn’t what Peter wanted?

Harry felt the phone vibrate in his hand.

_P: Plenty more where that came from._

Harry heard the shopkeeper’s bell ding as he felt his phone buzz again. He kept his attention on the phone to quickly read Peter’s message. He knew he had a good 15 to 30 seconds before the customer knew what they wanted to order.

_P: Movies tomorrow?_

Harry grinned.

_H: Absolutely._

“Who’s making you grin like that?”

Harry’s stomach dropped as he recognized the customer’s voice.

He locked his phone, holding it in his hand tightly. He clenched his jaw as he studied the man in front of him, trying to figure out of he was a figment of his imagination due to sleep deprivation. 

“Nothing to say?” The man teased. “How long has it been?”

“Not long enough,” Harry gritted. He took a step back from the counter, wanting to put distance between him and the man he used to call his father. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” Norman asked, taking a step toward the counter. “Shouldn’t a father want to reconnect with his son?”

“I –“ Harry started, letting his word hang in the air. He knew he shouldn’t trust his father. That it would be backtracking all that he’s done to get himself here. That he knew he was no good for him. He shouldn’t listen to Norman at all. “I guess, but –“

“My _son_ ,” Norman said. “You cannot understand what I have been through. How much time I had to reflect about us. _Our future_.”

“Your time … in prison,” Harry clarified. “You murdered –“

“He fell,” Norman spat. “It was ruled an accident.”

“For Spider-Man,” Harry said. “Not for the –“

“Don’t you dare call me that,” Norman growled. Harry tensed at the way too familiar tone of voice. “Things have changed. You shouldn’t have such doubt in me.”

Harry clenched his jaw.

“No son of mine should be wasting his life making coffee,” Norman said, glancing around the abandoned café. “No _intelligent_ son of mine would do that. Not one that I sent to Columbia. Not one that I trained to follow my footsteps.”

“This … This is what I want to do,” Harry said softly. He met his father’s eyes for a split second before looking away, away from the look that Harry had often seen growing up. A look filled with disappointment with a blend of anger. “Where I want to be.”

“Can you even afford –“

The shopkeeper’s bell rang, turning both the men’s attention to the man walking in, with a canvas bag in one hand and small coffee bag in the other.

“Hey, so they have a new blend and Oscar gave us a sample of –“ Peter looked up from the coffee’s label, realizing that Harry was talking to a customer. “Sorry, I didn’t –“ His remorse quickly washed away as it was replaced with anger as he recognized Norman. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Do I not have the right to speak to my son?” Norman asked, his voice even as he turned his attention harshly to Harry. “Don’t I have the right to see you?”

“Harry, you don’t –“

“You should leave,” Harry said flatly, his attention focused on Norman.

Peter set the bag down on the table and walked toward Norman. “You heard him,” He said, putting his hand in the hook of Norman’s arm and pulling. “You should –“

“Not him,” Harry said, nodding toward Peter. “You.”

“Harry –“

“Taking a stance for once?” Norman said, pulling his arm out of Peter’s grip.

Harry hesitated before speaking. “How did you find me?”

“There was a nice article in the Bugle about your little … project,” Norman grinned. Peter’s stomach dropped. “While your … business, for lack of a better word, is barely breaking even, it seems like you’re fighting your competition well. Maybe there’s still a bit of Osborn in you.”

Harry quickly glanced at Peter, begging him to leave. He didn’t want Peter to even meet his father, let alone watch as Norman belittled him. “I’m not an Osborn anymore.”

“As long as you’re alive, you’re an Osborn,” Norman spat, leaning over the counter. Harry instantly stepped back. “You’ll be an Osborn until your last breath whether that’s when you die at 92 of old age or _next week_ at the fault of _my_ _own_ –“

Peter quickly stepped in between Norman and the counter, pushing him backward. “You gotta go.”

“Peter –“

“That was a threat,” Peter narrowed his eyes. “And you got to go.”

Norman smiled, letting it fall into a sinister-looking grin.

“Peter,” He said, almost singsongingly, before glancing toward Harry. “Is this your new boy toy?”

Harry opened his mouth and shut it, not wanting to answer. Peter kept his stoic expression still.

“Is it true love?” Norman teased. “Or is it like your other relationships, set to fail?”

“You can fuck off,” Peter snapped.

“Is that what you want?” Norman raised an eyebrow before looking at Harry. “Do you know it’s purely sexual? He’s just wanting a quick fuck and he’s out of your life? Who else has fucked you over like that? Care to name them or do you want me to?”

“We’re going to call the cops,” Peter snapped. He wanted to do more than call the cops. If it wasn’t for Harry behind him, he’d start throwing punches. “If you don’t get the fuck out of here.”

“Swearing like a sailor, too,” Norman said, finally taking a step back. Not out of fear. He was a cat, tired of playing with the mouse. “Diseases come with those, Harry. You better watch yourself. Think about a better opportunity than –“ Norman vaguely gestured to Peter before gesturing to the coffee shop. “—This.”

Harry looked away from his father, not wanting to humor him anymore than he’s already have. Peter kept his solid stance and keeping his attention to Norman. He crossed his arms, acting as a barrier between Norman and Harry. Norman pressed his lips together, as if he was thinking he could phase through Peter, to continue to harass Harry … but he took another step back.

“I’ll come back for you,” Norman said, looking around Peter to speak to Harry. “Whenever he’s through with you, we will continue to grow Oscorp –“

“Assets were liquefied,” Harry said quietly.

“We will build it back,” Norman said sternly. “That company _was all_ we had.”

Peter took a step forward, reminding Norman that he was leaving. Norman took the message, rolling his eyes and continued to walk to the door.

“When you’re through with him, Peter,” Norman said, stepping out of the door. “Leave him in Midtown, so he can come crawling back to me.”

Peter and Harry stayed silent as they watched Norman leave the coffee shop, giving them one final glance before walking away. As soon as he was out of sight, Peter walked to the front door, locking it and turning the open sign to ‘closed’. He turned around to look at Harry.

Harry was shaking. He held the counter tightly, attempting to stop the nerves wracking through his body. He kept his eyes glued to the ground.

“Harry –“

Harry let go of the counter, sliding down to the ground. Peter ran to the back of the café, jumping over the counter and kneeling down next to him.

“Harry,” Peter said softly, running his hand up and down his arm. Harry leaned his head back against the cabinet. “Are you okay?”

Harry’s breathing was erratic, but he knew he was okay physically. He gave a jarring nod, eyes tight as he tried to focus on breathing. He could hear Peter move beside him. Maybe Norman was right. Peter wasn’t looking for anything serious, and this was too much for him. He was going to get up and leave –

Peter sat down on the ground next to Harry, pressing his leg against his. He reached over and took Harry’s hand, holding it tightly.

“Take your time,” Peter said softly. “I’ll be here with you.”

It was a few more minutes before Harry calmed his breathing, and a couple more before he spoke up.

“I didn’t mean to bring you my baggage this early,” Harry said quietly. “I had that planned for the third date.”

“Really?” Peter said, raising an eyebrow. “I usually bring it out on the second date.”

Harry let out a scoff, wanting to laugh more but unable to find the strength to pull it out.

“Do you … want to talk about him?” Peter asked cautiously. Harry shook his head no. Peter bit his lip and nodded. The two were quiet for another passing moment. “We should call the cops.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed, reaching for his phone on the counter and quickly searching for the dispatch number. “I … figured they would’ve caught him by now.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. Harry pressed the phone to his ear and his head against Peter’s shoulder as he waited to be connected to the nearest police station. Peter gave his hand a soft squeeze, knowing it’s not every day that you have to report your estranged super-villain father who broke out of his prison cell showed up at your place of work. Peter leaned his head against Harry’s as he started to talk to the dispatcher, occasionally squeezing his hand when his breath hitched or when he could hear the frustration rise in his voice.

“They’re sending some officers over to gather information,” Harry said, hanging up the phone, not yet ready to pull away from Peter. “I – Can you stay? When they’re here?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, squeezing Harry’s hand again. “Yeah, of course.”

Harry pressed his lips together, nodding. He knew half of him just wanted Peter to stay with him to prove to his father that Peter wasn’t going to run away, and to get the thought of Norman out of his mind. But part of him knew he was using him for more comfort than just pretending his father never showed up at the coffee shop, to ease the tension when the officers arrived. “Thank you,” he whispered, bringing their hands up to his lips to gently kiss Peter’s hand. “For everything.”

Peter bit his lip. He hated to know that Harry was feeling scared and uneasy. He wanted to make Harry feel better, to ease Harry’s mind. The soft kiss against Peter’s knuckles told him exactly what he needed to do. He had to make sure Norman couldn’t hurt anyone anymore.


	4. 'I could’ve stopped the Goblin.'

Peter had no leads.

No idea how he was going to find Norman Osborn – or the Green Goblin. Whoever he was tonight.

It’s not like Norman had planned on shouting his location to the city. He was a fugitive in hiding. Peter wasn’t even sure if he was in New York City. New Jersey was within arm’s reach. He could be anywhere.

But Peter was set on finding him. There was hardly anything that would slow Peter down from looking for him.

Well, except for the few crimes along the way.

And every one he stopped, he shove the criminal a little too hard against the wall, pulled his fist back and asked the same question. “Where is the Goblin?”

Most were terrified, attempting to shield their face as they frantically promise they don’t know who the Goblin is. It didn’t stop Spider-Man’s fist from meeting their face. He asked again, to be met by the same reactions by all – except for one.

“I don’t work for him!” The man said, attempting to shield his face. “But I think I know where he might be!”

Peter hesitated. Even if this guy was feeding him bullshit, it was more than he already had. “You think,” Spider-Man asked, raising his fist higher. “Or you know?”

“I – I don’t know _who_ it is,” the man said, flinching. “But all of a sudden, _he_ overtook us. It was dark, I couldn’t see! There was a gas and I swear I was tripping. I saw things, man. Like, monsters. With extra long arms – like Slenderman.”

“I’m pretty sure Slenderman is a dated reference,” Spider-Man said, lowering his fist. He grabbed the man’s shirt, raising him higher. “Where.”

“Red Hook!” The man said, grabbing at Spider-Man’s wrists. “There’s a huge pile of freight containers on the south end with shitty crown graffiti! There was an entrance to our underground hideout in the first freight – he over took us there. Please let me –“

Spider-Man threw the man, quickly webbing him mid-air hanging from a light post. “Thanks, pal,” Spider-Man said as he walked away. “Tell _your boss_ I’m after you guys _next_.”

Peter was already midswing heading to Brooklyn when he heard the guy shout obscenities at him. He couldn’t care less what the man thought. He needed to protect his friends.

Landing at the shipyard, Peter eased his way in, hiding in the shadows along the freight containers high above. From what the man said, it sounded like Norman was teaming up with Doctor Octopus. Peter internally groaned as he remembered Otto Octavius’s sly grin and the promise that the Sinister Six will be the end of Spider-Man. There were more of them and Norman was leading them. Peter almost hated to see who was all pulled together in the gang of misfits.

He spot the crown graffiti in the distance, the faded yellow spray paint still somehow stuck out against the dark blue of the freight. Peter hoped that the entrance wasn’t too far from the logo. He swung over to the freights – before his spider-senses screamed through his body. He barely had time to react, quickly spraying rapid blasts of webbing, pushing the pumpkin bomb away from him before it exploded.

“Just who I was looking for,” Spider-Man said, landing on top of the freight car. “You’ve been gone so long, New York Comic Con already ended. Or you’re super early. Either way, it was months ago or you’re months ahead.”

“You never stop, do you?” The Goblin tilted his head, almost interested. “Didn’t take you as long as I thought it would.”

“Don’t you have an entourage?” Spider-Man asked, praying he wasn’t asking for trouble. “I thought there were more of you – The Fantastic Four! No. The Sillier Six? Nope. The –“

“Sinister Six,” The Goblin snapped. “And while I have my team formed, I told them I’d give you a personal welcome or, what’s the proper word? Warning.”

“Warning?” Spider-Man asked. “For what? Wet floors? Bad weather? Road work ahead?”

“God. I should’ve thrown you off the GWB,” The Goblin hissed. Peter washed over with anger. He lunged off the freight car, fist first into Norman’s jaw. He stumbled backward, quickly regaining his balance and striking his forearm toward Spider-Man. Peter’s senses buzzed, quickly pulling him back and away from the blades on his suit.

“You hurt a lot of people,” Spider-Man said, keeping his distance as he found safety on the freight car. He shot a web, grabbing Norman’s arm and threw him against another freight. “A lot of _good_ people.”

“And you know I wasn’t found guilty for any of that,” Norman grinned sinisterly. He pushed himself off the ground, his voice even as if nothing happened. “Nobody could prove that it was me that night. I had an alibi. Spider-Man, though, he was at the scene of the crime.”

“I was proved to be innocent,” Spider-Man said sharply, remembering the endless news coverage of the city of New York attempting to blame Spider-Man. Spider-Man was almost called to court to defend himself, before George Stacy’s death was ruled an accident in Spider-Man’s case. Spider-Man had to limit his crime fighting those few weeks, which after Norman was arrested was still harder than he thought it would be. “You were arrested –“

“For the only thing they could prove,” Norman said. “Insider trading –“

“You should be rotting –“ Peter barely dodged a pumpkin bomb. The bomb exploded, gasping as it released a familiar green gas. Peter swore and quickly covered his mouth, knowing the Goblin wasn’t one for repeating moves but … but this wasn’t the Goblin. This _was_ Norman Osborn. A gentle buzz in left temple told him know to duck, barely missing the swiping blades. He quickly stuck his back against the freight and kicked Norman away from him.

Norman slammed against an adjacent freight, letting out a grunt. He quickly threw several pumpkin bombs at Spider-Man. Peter felt his Spidey-sense buzz dull, unable to dodge any of the bombs. His pain couldn’t set in properly. Peter wasn’t sure if he was bleeding or if he was broken, he just knew that he felt the steel of the freight and that his body ached sharply. He pushed off the ground, quickly finding a strong kick in his ribs.

“I know your base,” Spider-Man spat, pushing against the dirt. “I know your base –“

Norman pulled Spider-Man up and shoved him against the freight car. “You really think this is permanent?” He laughed. “You think I’m that dumb? The man you met was a decoy – when you hear that Spider-Man is asking for you, it’s easy to set up a trap.”

Peter swore under his breath.

“I hope to God Kingpin would have a better hidden location than this piece of shit,” He laughed again. “It doesn’t take much to pay those sonsuvabitches –“

Peter webbed Norman’s mask, covering his line of sight. He quickly twisted his body, bringing his legs up to kick Norman away again. Norman stumbled back, ripping the webbing off his face. Peter brought his fist down against Norman’s jaw again. Norman brought his arm up, swiping the blades against Peter’s ribs. Peter gasped, as Norman threw a punch.

“Take this as a warning,” Norman said, shoving Peter against the freight car again before throwing him on the ground. “The worst has yet to come.”

“That’s so fucking cliché,” Peter groaned, pushing himself back up. By the time he found his balance on his knees, Norman had left.

He groaned, unsure if he was content that he was gone … or that he should attempt to follow him in whatever direction he went in.

But Peter was certain about one thing.

Peter was positive that he had broken _something_. He just wasn’t sure what. The pain came from all over. He needed to find shelter, somewhere he could be hidden from cops or the Goblin’s second wind. He knew his spider-sense would wake him up before anyone could get close to him to unmask him, but he couldn’t take the chance.

His first option was to go home. He was in Brooklyn, but he was closer to Manhattan than he was to his own home. He was exhausted and his body craved sleep _now_.

Mary Jane’s apartment used to be his second option. She used to take him in and care for his wounds. Even before they were dating, she would help him. She knew his secret well before he decided to tell her. But she was with Gwen. And Gwen didn’t know. She didn’t _need_ to know. And Peter couldn’t remember if they actually lived together, or if she just stayed over often enough that she could technically live there. Either way, it was 2 a.m. and Peter wasn’t taking that chance.

Rooftops are his usual to go rest places when he’s too far from home. But he couldn’t risk it.

He slowly swung his way into Manhattan, looking for a safe haven. His eyes caught a neon sign in a nearby diner flashing “DONUTS! COFFEE! 24/7” and his eyes brightened with an idea.

He knew where to go. Where he could hide without anyone finding him, as long as he set an alarm to get up and changed. And it wasn’t too far from here.

He rotated his swing, wincing at the sudden pain that shot through his shoulder and started to Hell’s Kitchen, toward the Coffee Bean.

He snuck around to the alleyway, finding the back entrance to the café. He pushed on the door gently, finding resistance in the heavy deadbolt. He sighed, attempting to send a telepathic apology to Harry before slamming his body weight into the door, using his spider-strength to push the deadbolt and its box through the doorframe.

He collapsed to the ground, pushing the door shut with his foot. He closed his eyes and sighed in relief, finally ready to find sleep among the bags of espresso beans.

Or at least, for a couple of minutes.

“Who’s out there?” A voice called, almost uneasy.

Peter’s eyes shot open.

Fuck.

Harry.

He slowly started to crawl into a corner, hoping the darkness will hide in him the storage room. He bit his lip, and attempted to slow his breathing. Harry’s steps grew closer to the storage room, hesitant.

“I’m armed,” Harry warned the shadows.

Peter swore under his breath. If Spider-Man scared Harry, Peter might end up with a bullet in his body. He glanced upward, knowing he had to hide from Harry. He stuck himself to the back wall, and climbed up to the ceiling, as quietly as he could. He knew his best option was to crawl toward the front of the room, in case Harry ended up looking at the ceiling. He wouldn’t see him in the shadows –

Harry turned on the light, blinding Peter temporarily.

“Shit!” Peter lost his grip on the wall, falling toward the ground, barely missing the bat Harry swung at him.

“What the fuck,” Harry breathed, taking aim with his bat in case Spider-Man tried anything.

“I can – I can explain,” Spider-Man said in a hurry as he raised his hands in front of his chest as if to show that he was unarmed … not that it mattered. Spider-Man fought with his fists, not guns. “Wait – I thought you said you were armed?”

“I have a bat, don’t I?” Harry said, keeping his bat up high. “Now explain.”

“I –“ Spider-Man started, unsure where he wanted to start. Harry tightened his grip on the bat. “I was in the neighborhood and wanted a cup of coffee.”

“There’s 24-hour diners for a reason.”

“None of them serve good light roast,” Spider-Man said, his palms still facing Harry. He eyed the bat before glancing over Harry. “Can we – can we talk without the bat?”

Harry hesitated and lowered it, keeping it tight in his grip.

“That works,” Spider-Man sighed. He lowered his hands, leaning his head back. “I had a bad fight.”

“So you came … here?” Harry asked cautiously.

“It was closer than my apartment,” Spider-Man said. “I mean house. _Mansion_. Closer than my mansion.”

“Mansion,” Harry repeated. “So instead of bleeding out in your … _mansion_ or even an ER, you decided my storage room was the best place?”

“Okay, when you put it that way, it sounds weird,” Peter ran his hands over the top of his mask. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”

“And I expected to be able to sleep,” Harry said, lifting the bat up slightly. “What were you planning to take, Sticky Fingers? I can’t afford to lose anything.”

“I wasn’t planning on taking anything,” Spider-Man sighed. He studied Harry, realizing how awake he was this early in the morning, but how tired he looked. “What do you mean that you ‘expected to be able to sleep?’ ”

Harry pressed his lips together, as if he was deciding whether to open up to Spider-Man. “You can’t stay here.”

Peter opened his mouth before closing it. “Okay,” He said, slowly pushing himself up. Harry raised the bat, waiting in case Spider-Man came at him. “I’m not going to –“ Spider-Man huffed, realized it was a useless fight. “— Nevermind. Thanks for letting me drop by.”

Spider-Man turned around, taking a step toward the door stumbling. Fuck. Where did the feeling in his leg go? He gathered his balance before taking another step, feeling the pain shoot through his leg. Well, now he knew where the broken bone was. He bit his cheek, taking another step, suddenly feeling Harry grab his sides, stabilizing him.

“Okay,” Harry huffed. “You can stay here, but I’m staying with. You can’t take anything and need to leave before morning shift arrives.”

“Morning shift,” Spider-Man huffed. Right. _Peter Parker_ was supposed to help open on the slow Saturday morning, learning the ropes so he can open by himself.

“8 a.m.,” Harry said, easing Spider-Man against the counter. “Can you handle that or do we need to move you?”

“I … I can handle it,” Spider-Man sighed, closing his eyes as he slid down the counter. He extended his leg as far as he could, letting the mending process continue. He should be fine by the morning. Hell, he would probably be fine within a couple hours. He felt his phone buzz against his hip. He reached into his pocket, pulling it out fully expecting a lecture from Mary Jane about going after the Green Goblin unprepared.

_02:47_

_H: You up?_

Peter glanced at Harry, sitting on the opposite counter, making sure he wasn’t watching him text back. Harry was occupied by his phone, scrolling on some app, occasionally stopping to read a post.

_P: Yeah, about to hit the hay._

_P: What’s up?_

_H: Can’t sleep._

_P: Whys that?_

Harry’s text in progress bubble popped up, going on for much longer than Peter expected. Peter locked his phone, watching at Harry. His fingers weren’t moving on the screen. He bit his lip, as if he was fighting _something_. But Peter couldn’t figure out what. It seemed easy to type ‘Spider-Man broke into my shop, so I’m here watching him making sure he doesn’t steal anything.’

Peter realized it was more than that the moment before Harry’s text came in.

_H: This afternoon fucked me up._

That’s it. God. Norman deserved every punch Peter laid on him.

_P: Do you want to talk about it?_

_H: I want to_

_H: But I can’t_

_P: Why?_

_H: Babysitting_

_H: You wouldn’t believe who tried to rob me tonight_

Peter didn’t need to believe him. Peter knew who tried – okay, _Spider-Man_ didn’t attempt to rob the Coffee Bean. He was looking for shelter. He glanced up at Harry, as he was waiting for Peter to text back. He sighed, knowing he was breaking every rule he created to protect his friends two years ago. But Peter could tell that Harry needed to talk about this.

_P: Call me_

Peter locked his phone, keeping his attention glued to Harry. Harry let a soft smile play on his lips before quickly dropping it and looking at Spider-Man.

“I’m – I’m going to make a quick call,” Harry said, pushing himself off the counter, phone in hand. “I’m going to step out but I swear, if you pull any funny business –“

“No funny business from me,” Spider-Man said, raising three fingers in a salute. “Scout’s honor.”

Harry opened his mouth before shutting it, stopping himself from saying anything negative. He stepped outside of the storage room, leaning against the wall in the empty coffee shop as he called Peter. The phone rang only once before Peter answered with a soft ‘hello?’ God. Harry swore he sounded so close.

“Hey,” Harry said softly, feeling a smile grow on his face. “You wanted me to call you?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, matching Harry’s tone. “I thought we could talk about the man who tried to rob you.”

“Everything’s fine,” Harry said. “I promise you, nobody got hurt.”

“I think he’s kind of hurt,” Peter said, leaning his head against the cabinet. “But I think that was before he saw you.”

“Are you trying to be deep on me?” Harry wrinkled his brow. “Peter, I was almost robbed. This is a serious situation. Please don’t doubt me,” Harry sighed, his voice quiet. “Not now.”

“I’m not – I’m not doubting you,” Peter said. “I just – Can we speak … face to face?”

“Peter, I can’t Facetime right –“

“Harry,” Peter said, a little too loud for Harry’s phone. Actually, that sounded a little too close and in-person for it to be Peter.

“Hold on a second,” Harry whispered, as he took a glance into the storage room, peeking at Spider-Man, who was on the phone, his mask rolled up to his nose. He gave a soft, empathetic smile. Harry felt his stomach tug.

“Harry, I need to tell you something.” Harry nearly dropped the phone, as he watched Spider-Man talk into the phone – talk to _him_ on the phone, his words echo through the speakers. Peter reached up to pull the mask off slowly. “I may fought your dad tonight.”

Harry’s phone slipped between his fingers. Peter grabbed it with a web, avoiding the phone from shattering its screen against the hard floor. Harry stepped backward, running his hands over his hair.

“Harry –“

“What the fuck.”

“Harry –“

“What the honest fuck,” he breathed. “You didn’t – I was – You’re Spider-Man?”

Peter nodded.

“Holy shit,” Harry leaned against the door frame, suddenly feeling dizzy. “What the fuck.”

“You said that.”

“I know I’ve said it,” Harry said, combing his fingers through his hair. “Fuck. Fuck!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t –“ Peter stopped. He wasn’t sorry that he didn’t tell Harry. He would’ve gone longer, if it wasn’t for the fact that Harry found him beat up in the backroom. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”

They stood in silence for a few minutes before Harry mumbled, “God, I really wish I drank.”

“Me too,” Peter laughed. He pulled a soft smile from Harry. At least, they weren’t on a completely bad page.

“Let’s – Let’s get you to a better sleeping spot,” Harry said, walking over to help Peter up. He wrapped his arm around Peter’s waist. “You … might want to –“

Peter got the message. He slipped the mask over his head, concealing his identity. Harry let his fingertips linger over the suit’s pattern for a moment before helping Peter out of the storage room and into the small hallway between the cafe, and the restaurant next door. Harry helped balance Peter up the stairs, avoiding his hurt leg, and down the hallway to the first apartment.

Once they were inside, Harry helped Peter to the couch, setting him down gently before going back and locking the front door.

Peter pulled the mask off completely. He turned to look at Harry, who was busy texting. Suddenly, he was filled with anxiety.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Peter begged, sitting forward as if he was going to pull the phone from Harry’s hands from far away. “I can’t let anyone else know –“

“I’m telling Miles you won’t be in for the morning shift,” Harry explained. “And that if he needs help, he can call me.”

“Sorry,” Peter slumped into the couch. “I just … assumed.”

“Yeah,” Harry huffed, as he locked his phone. He walked to the kitchen, digging through the cabinets. “And I assumed the boy I was dating was normal. I guess we’re both wrong.”

“Yep,” Peter said, leaning back on the couch. “You picked a dumbass with super strength and the constant need to punch bad guys. Nowhere near normal.” Harry stifled a laugh from the kitchen as he dug through the cabinets. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for the first aid kit,” Harry said, before finding the box underneath the sink. He pulled it out, and grabbed a rag, wetting it with warm water before walking over to Peter. He sat down next to Peter, gently bringing the rag to Peter’s hairline, wiping away the dried blood that stained his skin. “I can’t sleep and you’re bleeding. So, I’m going to fix one of these. Can you take your suit off?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded as he leaned forward and worked the top half of his suit off. Harry let out a soft gasp when he saw how bruised Peter was and how deep some of the cuts were. Peter pulled his lips into a tight smile as he reached up to palm Harry’s jaw. “I’m okay.”

“I’m not sure you know the definition of ‘okay’,” Harry said as he moved the wet rag from Peter’s forehead to attend to the gash across his side. Peter winced. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Peter said, closing his eyes as he leaned back into the couch. “Do you still want to talk about this afternoon?”

Harry pressed his lips together, as if he was deciding whether he actually wanted to discuss the topic now. He continued to clean Peter’s wound. “I never wanted you to meet him,” He said quietly. “I cut all ties to him, I never took a dime that wasn’t mine. I thought I was never going to see him again. And _actually_ _seeing_ him in front of me … it just … brought up all these memories that I didn’t want to have.”

Peter opened his eyes to look at Harry, finally noticing the tears building up in his eyes. Harry’s attention was glued to Peter’s cut, the wash rag against his skin. Peter sat up, his sudden movement scaring Harry as he moved both his hands to Peter’s side to stabilize him. Peter leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss against Harry’s forehead. “He’s going back to prison,” Peter whispered, running his thumb over Harry’s cheek, catching the falling tear. “I promise you, I’ll send him back.”

 “I don’t – I don’t want him to hurt you.”

“It’s a little too late,” Peter gave a harsh laugh, wincing at the pain on his side. He leaned back on the couch. “Does it make you feel better that I probably broke his jaw and a few ribs?”

Peter watched the small smile grow on Harry’s face. “A little,” he said, picking up the first aid kit off the floor and finding a large gauze pad for Peter’s side. He carefully covered the gash, securing the edges with medical tape. “I just …” Peter watched his smile fade. “When I saw him, I felt reminded that it’s all my fault. That if I stood up to him or called for help or was a better son, maybe he wouldn’t have been like this.”

“What … what do you mean?” Peter asked. There was nobody to blame but Norman for this afternoon. Even for this evening, the blame could be shifted to Peter for instigating the fight between Spider-Man and the Green Goblin.

Harry pressed his lips together, before standing up. “I … need to wet the rag again. You’re still bleeding.”

“Harry –“ Peter reached out to grab Harry’s wrist to stop him from moving any further. Harry tensed before pulling his arm away from Peter. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m –“ Harry ran his hand over his face. “I’m sorry.” He paused for a beat. “I’m sorry. Let me get this warm again. Take off your pants.”

Peter watched as Harry walked over to the sink, running water over it to clear out the blood it had already soaked up. Harry looked more exhausted than he did when they first started to clean Peter up. Peter sighed as he tried to work off the rest of his suit, inhaling sharply at the pain shooting through his leg. “What do you mean that it’s all your fault?”

“I -- I probably need to get therapy sessions again,” Harry mumbled, rubbing his face again. He squeezed the water out of the rag and turned off the sink. He hesitated to move, as if he stayed at the sink, maybe Peter would forget that he was here. It worked when he was younger, needing to avoid his father’s harsh words. He bit his lip before walking back over to Peter, kneeling down next to the couch as he helped clean the blood off his leg. “I could’ve stopped the Goblin.”

“What?”

“I could’ve stopped dad from hurting Gwen,” Harry said quietly, running the wet rag over a few of the smaller cuts on Peter’s thigh. “I could’ve stopped him from killing Captain Stacy.”

“Harry,” Peter said softly. He reached for the rag, pulling it out of Harry’s hand and setting it on his other knee. He took his hand in his and gave a soft squeeze. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” Harry said softly. “I couldn’t even be there for Gwen. The first time she saw me after the incident she went into a panic attack.”

“Because you … look like your dad,” Peter said slowly. Harry nodded. “That’s not your fault.”

“Genetics,” Harry laughed. “I know. It’s just – it hurt, knowing I hurt Gwen.”

“I know what you mean,” Peter said.

Harry kept his attention on their hands intertwined, nodding softly. Suddenly, it hit Harry. He turned to Peter and studied him. “Is this what you meant by you felt responsible?”

Peter nodded.

“You saved Gwen,” Harry said. “Please don’t forget that.”

Peter closed his eyes and nodded again. He needed to remember that, but he knew that he didn’t save George Stacy.

“Shit, Pete.” Peter opened his eyes and looked at Harry, suddenly looking at swelling of Peter’s knee underneath the wet rag. “I’m pretty sure that’s broken. We should get you to an ER.”

“I’m fine,” Peter said, tugging the rag back down on his knee. “I promise.”

“It’s _broken_ , Peter.”

“I – I heal,” Peter said. “It’s one of Spider-Man’s many talents.”

“Spider-Man,” Harry breathed. “Right. Let me get you an icepack for your leg. We should move you to the bed. I don’t want you rolling off the couch and shattering your knee any more than it already is.”

“Your couch is comfy,” Peter said, his eyes following Harry to the kitchen to look in the fridge for an icepack. “I can stay out here.”

“Bedroom,” Harry said, half in the freezer, half pointing to the door. “Now.”

Peter huffed. Loudly. Like it was the most inconvenient thing to do. He swung halfway across Manhattan to Hell’s Kitchen, breaks into the coffee shop, nearly gets hit with a baseball bat and now he gets ordered around?

He was mainly annoyed at the fact that he _knew_ he would be sleeping alone. That if he takes the bed, Harry would have to sleep on the couch which wasn’t as comfy as Peter was trying to make it seem, and Harry probably _wouldn’t_ even try to sleep from the sound of it.

“Okay,” Peter said as he slowly moved off the couch, using the furniture to maneuver himself to the bedroom. He made it halfway before Harry met him, wrapping his arm around his waist and helped him the rest of the way. Once Peter was on the bed, Harry helped situate the icepack on his knee. Peter studied Harry as he shoved a pillow under his leg to help with elevation. He was tired. He couldn’t sleep because he kept thinking about Norman Osborn. Maybe … maybe Peter could help him, at least through the night. “Can you … you stay with me?”

“I … Yeah,” Harry nodded gently. “Yeah, I can.”

Harry slipped into the bed next to Peter, keeping his distance as best as he could in the small bed. Both men stared at the ceiling, as if the stucco held constellations and they were searching for a shooting star to wish on. Peter pressed his lips together as he reached for Harry’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “Get some sleep,” Peter whispered. “I promise you, if anyone breaks in, I’ll protect you.”

“You and your broken knee will protect me?” Harry laughed. He gave a squeeze back. “My hero.”

Peter laughed, bringing their hands up to his lips to kiss Harry’s knuckles. “I promise you.”

Harry softly smiled, turning on his side to lean in and press a soft kiss against Peter’s lips before whispering a good night.

\-----  

Peter groaned as he slowly started to wake up. The sun had broken through the blinds, landing on his face. He groaned again, reaching above him to push the curtains aside – missing them completely. He rolled over, attempting to escape the bright morning light only to be met with a sharp pain in his side.

“Fuck,” He groaned, putting his hand on his ribs. His fingertips brushed against the large bandage that covered most of his side. He traced the outline of the bandage, as memories from last night flooded in. Finding Norman in a freight yard. Norman dulling his spider-sense and beating him. Spider-Man finding his way into the coffee shop’s backroom in search for sanctuary. Harry finding Spider-Man.

The more he thought about it, the more this bed didn’t feel like his. He forced his eyes open, against their will in fear of the sun. This wasn’t his room.

He’ll have to let Mary Jane know he made it to Harry’s bed.

No wait, he can’t. He couldn’t. Mary Jane couldn’t know that he went after Norman unprepared. She’d yell at him.

Peter exhaled as he slowly made his way out of the bed and toward the door. He cracked the door open, spotting Harry in the small kitchen, digging through the refrigerator before pulling out a carton of eggs. Peter watched silently as Harry prepared breakfast, pulling the bacon out of the pan and setting it aside on a plate and cracking a couple of eggs. Peter’s eyes naturally fell to the sweatpants hugging Harry’s hips loosely. Peter opened the door slowly. The loud creak hurt Peter’s ears and blowing his cover. Harry looked over and grinned to the sleepy man before turning his attention back to the stovetop.

“Rough night?” Harry called over his shoulder, focusing on the pan as he scrambled the eggs.

“Hah, funny,” Peter sighed, as he rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes. He knew he slept – well, he knew he was unconscious for a period of time. But he was still tired. Thank God for the scent of coffee flooding the air. “God, I hurt all over.”

“I bet,” Harry murmured. The room fell silent between the two. “I didn’t – I slept on the couch, if you were wondering.”

“That’s – “ Peter started, unsure where he was going. He was unsure about a lot of things. Like the way his heart ached, when it hit him that Harry didn’t sleep next to him. “Okay.”

“How’s your knee?” Harry asked as he moved the eggs to the plates.

“It’s in one piece,” Peter shrugged. “It’s still a little sore but I’ll survive.”

“Do you need help?” Harry asked, setting bacon next to the eggs. He turned around, gesturing that he was setting the plate at the kitchen bar and wanting Peter to come sit down.

“No, I can handle it,” Peter said. He slowly made his way over to the countertop. Harry had planned on pouring their coffee from the French press while he walked over, but instead he carefully watched Peter, making sure he didn’t stumble. “I’m fine. I promise. I’ve had worse.”

“I’m afraid of your ‘worse’,” Harry said, relieved when Peter reached the stool. He brought over two mugs of coffee, setting each by their plates before taking his seat next to Peter.

“Have you ever fought an eight-foot lizard?” Peter asked as he took a sip of his coffee, letting the almost-too-hot liquid warm his body.

“I know that’s supposed to be a hypothetical question but you’re asking with such conviction,” Harry laughed. “No, I haven’t.”

“It’s rough,” Peter said, with a soft smile. He took a bite of bacon, closing his eyes as he tried to remember the last time he had bacon that didn’t already come on a burger. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

“Make breakfast?” Harry asked, covering his mouthful of eggs with his hand. “I was hungry. I figured it would be rude if I made food for just me.”

“Not just breakfast,” Peter said. “I mean, everything. You could’ve let me sleep in the storage room.”

“I couldn’t do that,” Harry said. “It’s not like you harmed me in anyway, other than almost causing me to have a heart attack.”

“I could’ve slept on the couch –“

“And rolled off and injured yourself more?”

“I have a … danger-sense,” Peter said. “I would’ve been fine – that’s not the point. You didn’t have to do this, and you did. I wanted to thank you.”

“Danger-sense,” Harry repeated slowly. “Right. Because you’re –“ He gestured to Peter vaguely. “—a mutant?”

“Mutated,” Peter corrected. “A radioactive spider bit me.”

“And you develop powers from the spider,” Harry said. Peter nodded. “You’re like a bad scifi novel.”

“It gets worse,” Peter said, shoveling eggs in his mouth. “Do you want to guess where the spider came from?”

Harry ruffled his brow, knowing that Peter’s only asking because it was an obvious answer. What could make the spider bite a worse science fiction story? His eyes widened with realization. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was,” Peter laughed. He didn’t mean to laugh, but he wasn’t sure what else to do. “We had a school trip to Oscorp, and yours truly was pretty intrigued by the spider experiments.”

“Oh my god,” Harry breathed. “I swear _he_ just … follows me everywhere. Finds a way back into my life.”

Peter knew that the comment was supposed to be light-hearted. That clearly Harry has realized changing his name wouldn’t be enough to separate him from his father, but the comment filled Peter with guilt.

“I shouldn’t have suggested that article,” Peter said, turning his attention to the eggs on his plate. “He wouldn’t have found you if we didn’t feature you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Harry said, reaching over to give Peter’s thigh a hesitant, gentle squeeze. Harry was too afraid to squeeze Peter’s knee, in fear of causing him pain even though Peter swore his knee was healed. “He would’ve found me anyway. He always has.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I –“ Harry trailed off, unsure how much he wanted to tell Peter. “This isn’t the apartment MJ and I started out in. We started out Harlem before she moved in with Gwen. That’s when the letters started to arrive.”

“The letters,” Peter repeated.

“Yeah. I wasn’t sure if that’s when they actually started or if …” Harry turned his attention to his coffee mug. He could feel his pent-up emotions start to rise as if they were carbonation in a soda bottle, finding relief as Harry opened up to Peter. If he didn’t find something to focus his attention on other than Peter, he wasn’t sure how long he could go without tearing up. “Or if Mary Jane was protecting me by throwing them away. But I moved. He knew where I lived and I couldn’t have that. Even if he was behind bars far from the city.

“From Harlem, I moved to the Lower East Side, then back north, then skipped renting an entire apartment and roomed with a couple of college students in Morningside. I was even considering moving to a different borough before I got a letter that recommended apartments in Brooklyn. Everywhere I moved, the letters would just show up. I just … couldn’t get away from him.”

“You don’t still get letters do you?” Peter asked, his attention patient on Harry. He could sense that being open about his past was hard and emotional and probably not what he expected to talk about over breakfast.

Harry shook his head. “No, they stopped when I changed my name and moved here. I don’t think he had a hard time finding me again, I think he just didn’t have a reason to. I took away the one thing I could from him, the promise of an Osborn legacy. He always said I was a disappointment to the Osborn name so I just --” Harry laughed, awkwardly and pained. “Stopped being an Osborn.”

“You’re brave, you know that?”

“Hardly,” Harry said, taking a long drink of his coffee. “You? You’re brave. I’ve seen the headlines. I’ve watched the YouTube videos.”

“I’m dumb, that’s what that is,” Peter laughed. “That and I have a dumb need to be responsible. I have to protect New York.”

“We have cops for a reason,” Harry smirked, finding relaxation in Peter’s laughter.

“Like the ones we had in your shop yesterday?” Peter asked, raising an eyebrow. “You were uncomfortable around them. And not just the ‘my dad broke out of prison and dropped by my place of work’ uncomfortable.”

“I’m going to assume that you’ve never been a black man in your life?” Harry laughed softly. “Just because I have a general distrust of them doesn’t mean I don’t trust _some_ of them to do their job. It’s like how some people have trust the X-Men over the Avengers, or vice versa. You don’t hate all superheroes, some just do their job better than others.”

“I hope that Spider-Man falls under that category,” Peter grinned.

“He didn’t always,” Harry said sheepishly, he stood up and took Peter’s empty plate and his almost-empty plate to the sink. “I subscribed to the Bugle’s ‘menace’ theory for a while. Way longer than I should’ve. Mary Jane actually convinced me to give him a second chance.”

“She knew,” Peter said. “About Spider-Man. I never told her, she just … knew.”

“Does Gwen know?”

“No. I couldn’t … I couldn’t tell her after her dad died,” Peter said, watching as Harry made his way back around the kitchen island, leaning against his chair. “She hated Spider-Man that night, I couldn’t have her hate me, too.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you,” Harry reassured. “She just … associates a bad memory with the mask. Give her time.”

“Right. Maybe MJ can convince her, too,” Peter said, unsure if he was joking or not. He slowly made his way off the barstool. He stumbled when both feet hit the ground. Harry quickly grabbed Peter, hands on his hips to help stabilize him. Peter bit his cheek as pain shot up his leg. Maybe he still needed another hour of healing before he’s able to leave. Peter glanced down at Harry’s hands, steady his hips. He reached out, his touch feather light against Harry’s waist. “You could’ve slept with me last night.”

“It didn’t feel right,” Harry said quietly. He hesitated a moment, wanting to relax against Peter’s touch. He wanted to lean into Peter’s palm. He wanted to pull Peter close in for a kiss. But … he couldn’t. Instead, he pulled away and he walked back to the freezer to pull out the icepack. His tone lifted into a more cheerful attitude. “Plus, you’re like a space heater. You melted the icepack last night, I had to put it back in the freezer twice.”

He tossed the icepack in the general direction of Peter. Peter grabbed it without taking his eyes off of Harry. Harry swore under his breath in amazement. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“A little,” Harry said honestly. “Enough to get a REM cycle or two.”

“You need more than that.”

“I need to sleep without nightmares,” Harry laughed, a little too sincere. “God it just got worse since – since he broke out.”

“Did he –“ Peter started, unsure if he was able to ask his full question. Harry looked at him, waiting for him to finish. “Did he hurt you? As a kid?”

Harry opened his mouth, closing it instantly. “He never _hit_ me.”

Peter understood.

Peter knew he shouldn’t ask more questions – he shouldn’t have even asked the first. He could assume that Harry meant exactly what he said. That Norman didn’t hit him, and that was the end of that. But Harry’s hesitation suggested that Norman may have emotionally hurt Harry – emotionally abused him. But that wasn’t something that Peter needed to know. If Harry wanted to tell him more, he could. Peter would stop the world if he knew he could help Harry. God, he felt ridiculous for feeling this way for someone he barely knew – someone he met only a week ago. “I’ll stop him, I swear.”

“You tried that, remember?” Harry said, with all intent to be light-hearted but his tone fell lost in the memory of cleaning up Peter’s wounds. “That’s how you ended up here.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Peter grinned as he slowly walked over to the couch. Harry didn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around Peter’s waist and help him there. “I slept in your bed, so there’s a plus.”

“Alone,” Harry laughed. Peter felt better hearing his laugh. He sat down, placing the icepack on his knee.

“You were there for a while.”

“Like an hour,” Harry smiled, sitting down next to Peter. Peter maneuvered himself on the couch, much against his knee’s wishes, to rest his head against Harry’s lap. Harry softly smiled, running his fingers through Peter’s hair. He wanted to play with his soft locks forever, knowing eventually he had to leave. “I have to go downstairs for the lunch hour. I promised Miles.”

“Do you need help?” Peter asked. “I’ll come with –“

“Miles might not like that,” Harry laughed. “You didn’t come in for the morning shift, remember?”

“Right,” Peter said, closing his eyes. If he laid here much longer, Harry gently combing his hair with his fingers was going to lull him to sleep. “I really do like you, Harry.”

Harry stopped running his hand through Peter’s hair, his fingers tangled in his long locks, pushing them off of his forehead. Peter opened his eyes, maybe thinking he shouldn’t have said anything at all. But his worries were met with a soft smile on a gentle face. “I really like you, too, Peter.”

They were unsure who moved first, whether it was Harry leaning down politely or if Peter tilted his chin up welcomingly, but their lips met somewhere in between in a gentle kiss. A few moments pass before Harry leaned away ever-so slightly, hesitating only millimeters away from Peter’s lips. Peter waited patiently, his lips slightly parted and his eyes gently closed. He fought every urge he had to lean up and steal that second kiss, remembering that Harry wanted to go slow **.** “Take your time. I'll be here with you.”

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, leaning back down to for another small, gentle kiss before leaning back and running his fingers through Peter’s hair again. “You should try to rest more.”

“I had a full night’s rest.”

“You slept barely for five hours,” Harry laughed, moving his other hand to rest against Peter’s bare chest.

“See?” Peter grinned. “More than a full night’s sleep.”

“One day, you and I are going to experience what a full eight hours of sleep feels like,” Harry said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “We’ll just sleep and forget the bad in the world exists.”

Peter opened his eyes to look up at Harry. He took Harry’s hand on his chest and gave a soft squeeze. “I would love that.”

Harry smiled and squeezed Peter’s hand back. Peter smiled and relaxed, closing his eyes as he focused on Harry’s gentle touch on his hand and his fingers through his hair.

Before Peter knew he was asleep, he woke up.

He knew it was later in the morning, but the room felt darker. Peter sat up on the couch, glancing to the empty spot where Harry once was, his lap replaced by a throw pillow. Peter assumed that it came time for Harry to go downstairs for the lunch hour. Peter rubbed the rest of the sleep out of his eyes and stood up off the couch. Making his way around Harry’s apartment. He was here just the other day, but he never got a good look at everything.

The kitchen was small but had enough room to cook comfortably in a New York apartment. There was an oven and a refrigerator and a nice sized sink, with some considerable counter space for working. The spacious counter top doubled as the dining bar, with stools on the opposite side to keep the kitchen decluttered. There wasn’t much room for a table in the area that had potential to be the dining room. Instead, Harry had a simple coffee table lining the wall, covered in unopened mail, sticky notes and unfinished books.

Harry’s home décor was simple. There wasn’t much on the walls, but posters and other hanging art lined against the walls, as if Harry had planned to hang them up, but never fully got around to, as if he was set to pack up and leave if he needed to do so.

Peter found his phone on the coffee table in the living room. He picked it up and scrolled through the unread messages.

_8:55_

_MJ: Did you sleep at Harry’s? You dirty dog_

_MJ: Clear your guys’ schedule next Saturday btw_

_9:53_

_H: Went to the shop. If you need to leave, you can borrow some clothes they should fit_

_10:15_

_H: you can shower if you want_

_10:32_

_JJJ: Noon! My Office!_

Peter groaned, looking up at the time. 11:03. Well, at least he has time to get there.

Peter knew what he needed to do. He just needed to put his suit back on, climb out the window closest to the alleyway and swing home to get his stuff. He couldn’t leave through the front door in his suit.

Although … he thought about Harry’s offer. He hesitated for a moment, knowing he had to go back to his apartment eventually. He needed his camera. He took one final look at Harry’s bedroom before finally sighing in defeat.

He raided Harry’s wardrobe for a simple pair of jeans and a shirt. He settled on a pair of acid wash jeans, pushed to the back of the drawer and a plain black Hanes, hoping that Harry wouldn’t miss them as much. He felt bad if he took a pair of shoes from Harry – if they were the same shoe size anyway. Instead, he slipped on his red boots, hoping that he could hide them, at least long enough to get his assignment from J. Jonah Jameson and head to his apartment to change and get his camera. Half of him didn’t want to change. It felt special wearing Harry’s clothes, even if they seemed like some of his least favorites. But they were _Harry’s_. God. If Peter wanted to get his camera he had to leave.

Peter hurried back into the kitchen, quickly searching through the cabinets until he found the spare brown paper bags that he was looking for. He shoved his suit into the bag and hurried out of the apartment, down the hall and downstairs. He stopped as soon as he reached the end of the stairs, near the mailboxes welcoming their tenants up to their homes. At the end of the mailboxes were glass doors that lead into the neighboring businesses: a small Eastern European shop and the Coffee Bean.

He slowly walked into the coffee shop, knowing the off chances if Miles was there, he’d have to make up some sort of excuse of why he’s in several hours after his shift was supposed to start. He knew Harry covered for him, but coming in through this door seemed … misleading.

Peter sighed in relief when he saw no sight of Miles. He did catch Harry at the front counter, laughing with a dark-haired woman – no, _helping_. He was working. Peter shouldn’t feel his gut twist with jealousy, but he did. He bit his lip and swallowed his pride, half-wanting to step back out of the coffee shop. Before he could make his decision, Harry looked up catching eyes with Peter briefly. Instantly, a big grin pulled on Harry’s face. He tried to hide it, by quickly switching tasks. He picked up the white cup that he had marked for the woman’s drink and started to make it. The woman had said something to Harry, but Peter couldn’t hear her. With Harry’s grin still fresh in his memory, Peter smirked as he walked over to the counter. He leaned over the pickup counter, watching as Harry made the drink.

“Decided to finally wake up?” Harry laughed as he poured hot water into the paper cup.

“Technically, I didn’t know I decided to fall asleep,” Peter said. “Thanks for letting me borrow some clothes, by the way.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Harry said, cautiously putting the lid back onto the cup, making sure the tea tag was hanging out. He gave a quick glance at the clothes Peter chose and laughed. “I don’t think those pants have seen the light of day for a year or so.”

“Do I make them look good?” Peter asked, stepping back from the counter, arms stretched out to model.

Harry, attempting to hide his grin away, pressed his lips together and quickly looked away to call for the owner of the drink – the dark-haired woman who stayed awfully close to the counter. Peter felt exposed, shoving his hands into his pockets – _Harry’s pockets_. He knew the woman wasn’t paying attention to him, but the quick glances she gave him felt like daggers. “Hey Liz? Your tea is set to go.”

“Thanks, Harry,” She said, finishing up her text and took her cup from Harry. She smiled, brushing her hair out of her face, as if she brushed clouds away to reveal the warmth of the sun radiating from her skin. “See you next time around. I’ll tell Rake'níha you said hi,” she winked.

“Thanks,” Harry called after her as he walked back to Peter, whose curious look asked the question without a single word. “Liz is an old friend,” He explained. “She – we worked together, for a while. And dated. For a while. She’s the chief operating officer at Alchemex.”

“Oh, cool,” Peter said, nodding as he leaned back on the counter, attempting to play off whatever emotion was filling his gut. “Cool.”

“She asked about you when you came up,” Harry smirked. “She said that she recognized those jeans.”

“Did she say who wore them better?”

Harry hummed as he leaned on the counter, too, catching sight of Peter’s complete outfit. “Your shoes don’t match by the way. They stand out.”

“Ha, funny,” Peter said, leaning back from the counter. “I just needed to get out without having to sneak out your window.”

“Mhm,” Harry hummed. “You feel better?”

“Lots,” Peter nodded. “I need to run. Jameson has an assignment for me at noon and I need my camera. And better shoes. One is more important than the other.”

“The shoes,” Harry nodded, as if he was agreeing with Peter. “I’ll catch you later, then.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Peter said, knowing he needed to step toward the door. “Let me know if you need me to cover something tonight?”

“Technically, I don’t need you to,” Harry said in a soft singsong tone as a smile played on his lips. “But I’m working closing if you want to –“

“Yeah, definitely,” Peter said. “I owe you a movie night, too. So we could … you know?”

“Have a movie night?” Harry laughed.

“Yeah,” Peter said, nodding.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Harry said. “See you tonight then.”

“Tonight,” Peter repeated.

“Let’s not start this again, oh my god,” Harry laughed, leaning over the counter.

“Got it,” Peter grinned, taking a few steps forward to the counter and leaning in to place a soft peck on Harry’s cheek. At the last second, Harry turned his head slightly, stealing the kiss for his lips. It took Peter a moment before he internally had to tell himself that he had to leave to go get his camera. “See you tonight.”

“Tonight,” Harry repeated.

“You just –“ Peter laughed, shaking his head at the lost cause of an argument. He stepped away from the counter and started to head to the door. “Okay, see you tonight.”

After several unnecessary subway rides back to Peter’s apartment, he quickly changed his shoes and grabbed his camera, shoving it in his bag. He knew he left his Spidey suit back at Harry’s, but not fully remembering where he left it there. He sighed before digging into his dresser, pulling out his older, spare suit and shoving it in the far depths of his bag.

He hurried back to the Bugle, arriving a few minutes into budget meeting. He was hoping to catch Jameson for his assignment before the meeting started, but now he had to stand awkwardly in the doorway and listen to the editors talk about the stories they wanted to put on the front page. Peter tuned them out, or attempted to, before he heard someone pipe up about villains popping up.

“We’ve already seen Doctor Octopus,” The lead editor said. “We’ve heard rumors of the Vulture, and there were talks about large power outages in Chinatown --”

“Power outages?” Peter asked.

“Yes, Parker,” Jameson grumbled. “You would’ve known if you were here on time. Power outages across Chinatown, every few days since --”

“Since Norman Osborn broke freed,” Peter suggested. The room grew silent. Connecting the power outages to Norman was a reach, but Peter – Spider-Man -- knew about the Sinister Six, and he had to figure out who all was on the team. He wouldn’t be surprised if Electro wasn’t on the team.

“Technically, he’s not wrong,” one of the editors spoke up. “But, if we’re going by that logic, Senator Schumer arrived in town on Sunday, too. He might have been the cause of it.”

The editors laughed.

Peter rolled his eyes.

Jameson pulled Peter out of the room.

“Spider-Man photos, tonight by 5,” Jameson snapped. “Schwartz will text you if the power outage story develops. Here –“ J. Jonah Jameson handed Peter an envelope. “Clear your schedule next Saturday. You get photos of this before the first edition comes out, you can get a bonus –“

“A bonus?”

“ _Small_ bonus,” Jameson clarified. “I need those photos before deadline.”

“I actually had plans,” Peter said, pulling the card out from the envelope. Mary Jane told him to clear his schedule. He didn’t know what she meant, but he knew not to question Mary Jane’s orders. When the card was fully revealed, he pressed his lips together. Captain George Stacy stood at attention on the front of the card. Even after two years, it still hurt to see him. Peter flipped the card over and read briefly about the memorial dedication. “But I think this might be it. Can I bring a plus one?”

“Yeah, fine,” Jameson grumbled before turning back to the meeting. “I’ll let them know and, by the way –“ Jameson stopped at the door way, finger pointed toward Peter. “If you’re going to try to advertise your boyfriend’s business, do it like any normal millennial and use your social media – Not my paper.”

“Duly noted.”


	5. 'We deserve this.'

‘Going slow,’ Peter told himself. ‘We’re going slow.’

But that didn’t stop him from falling for Harry harder every time he smiled or laughed.

Everything felt more natural to Peter once all their secrets were out on the table. He felt like he could be more comfortable without having to lie about leaving for Spider-Man. Something he wished he had for all of his relationships. He never realized how much tension held his secrets.

He knew if he told Mary Jane earlier in their relationship, or if he even told her, maybe they could’ve lasted. But a part of him told him he didn’t need to dwell on the past anymore. He found his own spot of happiness in the dark of his world.

He just wished Harry would hire more help so he could steal him from work more often.

Sometimes, it was nice to take a break from his lesson plans and talk to Harry over a light lunch, but he really enjoyed the evenings when Miles and Ganke handled the shop and he had Harry to himself.

Even if that just meant eating Chinese takeout on Harry’s living room floor while they watched ‘Friends’ reruns.

Peter sat between Harry’s legs, resting his head against his shoulder and his hand on Harry’s knee. Harry’s hand rested against Peter’s side, lazily playing with the edge of his shirt, while his attention was fixed to his phone as he read Peter questions from a Buzzfeed quiz that was sure to tell Peter which ‘Friends’ character he was. Peter answered as honestly as he could – well, he answered mostly honestly. He really wanted to prove to this dumb online quiz that he was Chandler Bing.

Peter’s short-lived normalcy ended with the echo of police sirens in the distance, reminding Peter that he wasn’t just Peter Parker, high school science teacher and part-time photographer. He had a responsibility that he had neglected all day – that he was neglecting _now_.

“Peter?”

“What?” Peter leaned off of Harry to turn and look at him.

“I just listed off like, ten options, did you hear a single one?” Harry laughed.

“Yeah – no,” Peter said. He groaned before standing up. “I – I have to go.”

“You have to go?” Harry asked, following Peter by standing up. He picked up their empty take out cartons to throw away as he waited for answer.

“I just –“ Peter glanced toward the window, cracked to let in the cool night breeze. “I gotta swing.”

“Swing,” Harry repeated.

“Spider-Man,” Peter said softly.

“Right,” Harry nodded. They stood awkwardly before Peter realized he needed to change. He took his bookbag, casually pointing to the bedroom before slipping in there to change. “Do you go out every night?”

“I try,” Peter said, his voice muffled by the walls. “If I can, I go out in the afternoon, too. Or when something big happens.”

“Like Doc Ock at Alchemex,” Harry said.

“Yeah –“ Suddenly, Peter remembered he was with Harry when that happened. He ditched him. “Sorry about ditching you like that.”

“It’s okay – so wait, you don’t have an aunt who falls a lot?”

“No, I do,” Peter laughed, coming out of the bedroom partially changed. His clothes all made it into his bag, but the top half of his suit still remained off and in his hand. “Well, she doesn’t fall very much. She’s pretty cautious about that.”

“Did you ever tell her about the cute boy you’re dating?” Harry’s sarcasm was too soft to not be sincere.

“I did,” Peter said honestly. “I just didn’t tell her you said to go to the doctor’s office. She does want to meet you.”

“I‘d like that,” Harry smiled.

“We should plan that. I’ll catch you tomorrow?” Peter asked, slipping on the top half of his suit. Harry’s eyes shifted from Peter’s bare torso to his face once he started to pull his suit the rest of the way down.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, sitting back down on the floor. It felt much lonelier without Peter. “Actually, I – if you want, you can stay the night here … if you’re staying in the area, I mean. Beats finding your way back to Brooklyn.”

“Well – yeah, actually,” Peter said, as he played with his mask in his hands. “That would be easier than heading all the way back.”

“Okay,” Harry smiled. “You can shoot me a text when you’re heading back and I can let you in. I really don’t like leaving the door unlocked or opening the door late – not that it’s a bad neighborhood. General rule of thumb.”

“Actually,” Peter said, shifting his weight back and forth, from one foot to the other. “It will probably be late. Like, two or three in the morning.”

“Oh.”

“I can go back to Brooklyn if you want me to,” Peter started. “I don’t want to wake you if you’re opening tomorrow –“

“I’m not opening,” Harry reassured. “I switched with Miles. He had an interview over lunch. Plus, I’m a heavy sleeper. Not even Doc Ock himself could wake me.”

“You’re not going to lose him are you?” Peter asked. Harry was stressed enough being short-handed. He couldn’t imagine losing another during the summer.

“Scholarship interview,” Harry smiled. “He’s still planning on working for the Bean. _When_ he can. Not the point. Come back here when you’re done saving the city from bad guys. I’ll leave the window unlocked.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, stepping closer to Harry. He bent down, taking Harry’s chin in his hand, gently guiding him into a soft kiss. “I’ll see you tonight. You’ll see me in the morning.”

Harry hummed and pressed his lips together, savoring the taste of Peter’s lips – the lingering taste of orange chicken and fried rice. “I’d love that.”

\-----

Peter cautiously pushed the window open, trying his best not to make a sound. He knew Harry _should_ be asleep at this hour. Once inside, he used the light from the window to guide him around the apartment. He stripped his suit, tossing it at the foot of the couch before realizing the couch was covered in folded laundry, including his own clothes. He’d feel bad if he threw the laundry on the floor just to sleep for a few hours. He glanced toward Harry’s bedroom, where the door was cracked open. Peter pressed his lips together, deciding whether Harry had left that as a sign … or just didn’t like his door shut.

Peter sighed quietly, fighting any negative thought away as he slipped into Harry’s room – stopping just shy of the entrance. The soft street lights peeked in through the window, guiding Peter’s sight to the bed where Harry slept peacefully. He tried his best not to shift the bed with his weight, knowing that any sudden movements could wake up Harry. He leaned into the pillow and softly exhaled, finding comfort in Harry’s sheets.

Harry rolled over, instantly closing any gap in between him and Peter. Peter could feel his heavy breath against his skin as Harry turned him into a pillow. Harry must have been in deep sleep for him to want to sleep next to Peter this intimately.

At least, that’s what Peter thought.

Harry’s hand slowly moved on Peter’s chest, tracing circles lightly. “I’m glad you’re in one piece,” his voice hardly louder than a whisper, as if he was trying not to wake someone else. There was no hint of sleep in his voice.

“I try my best not to come home in more than three,” Peter replied, wrapping his arm around Harry’s waist. He could feel Harry relax against his body. “You should be asleep. It’s too late -- _early_.”

“I can say the same to you,” Harry said. “I’ll sleep if you sleep.”

“That’s not – you’re not supposed to make deals for sleep,” Peter laughed softly.

“I know,” Harry said flatly. Peter could feel Harry’s eyelashes flutter against his chest, knowing that he wasn’t attempting to sleep yet. “Can you -- I want to ask you about Spider-Man but I just … don’t know how to pinpoint my question.”

“Can it wait until morning?” Peter asked yawning. Between the soft pillows and Harry’s warm body, he was finding himself falling asleep as they spoke. “Tomorrow, I promise you can ask me anything your heart desires.”

“Okay,” Harry breathed, his tone a mix of tiredness and defeat. Peter closed his eyes, letting Harry’s soft breathing and gentle touches on his chest lull him to sleep. The room was quiet enough that Peter almost thought Harry had fallen asleep. “Did … you see my dad tonight?”

“Did I see -- ?” Peter asked, opening his eyes. Harry remained silent. Peter bit his cheek, now understanding why Harry hasn’t fallen asleep yet. “I didn’t. Not him or any of the Sinister Six. Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” Harry said. Peter could feel his eyelashes flutter against his chest again, then come to a rest. “It … it almost makes me feel better than you didn’t see him.”

“Then you’ll be glad to hear how many bodega robberies I stopped tonight,” Peter smiled, moving his hand to rub Harry’s back soothingly. “At least five in East Harlem alone.”

“That does make me feel better,” Harry laughed. “God, what a hero. _My hero._ ”

Peter smiled, feeling his gut fill with butterflies. “Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, Pete.”

And like a routine, the next three nights they fell asleep the same way. Peter would find his way through Harry’s window, usually invited earlier that day or through text a few hours before, see the laundry spread across the couch, and found his way into the bedroom. As soon as his hips touch the mattress, Harry is right there by his side, draping his arm over his torso and head against his chest. Peter would wrap his arm tightly around Harry’s waist and wish him a good night.

On the fifth night, Peter came in much earlier, still buzzed with adrenaline. He slipped into bed, a little recklessly, knowing that Harry wasn’t asleep. Before Harry could settle on him, Peter rolled over, wrapping his arm around Harry’s waist and pressed himself against Harry. He softly kissed Harry’s bare shoulder. He knew they said they were going slow, but he half-hoped he could wake Harry enough that he’d be interested in making out, even if it was just for a little bit.

 Harry hummed sleepily, leaning his head into the pillow as Peter worked gentle kisses up to his neck. “You’re back early.”

“Slow crime night,” Peter brought his kisses back to Harry’s shoulder. “Y’know,” Peter said softly, pressing a long, lingering kiss against his skin. “I like my coffee like I like my men …”

“… What?” Harry rolled over quickly, putting his hand on Peter’s chest. His touch was firm, as if he was keeping Peter from moving any closer to him.

“Sweet?” Peter asked, eyebrow raised.

“Oh thank god,” Harry breathed, laughing. He relaxed and leaned in pressing a kiss against Peter’s lips. “I thought –“ he laughed again, pressing his forehead against Peter’s shoulder. “I thought you meant black –“

“Well,” Peter smirked, running his thumb against Harry’s hip. “I mean –“

“I meant like a fetish.”

“Oh – Oh no,” Peter stumbled, moving his hands away from Harry. “Oh god no. I didn’t mean – I just meant – I think you’re sweet and I like my coffee sweet rather than bitter – not that bitter coffee is terrible I just meant I thought you were sweet – _are_ sweet and I was working on this dumb pick-up line the entire way -- “

Harry leaned in and kissed Peter, stopping him from rambling.

“I know what you mean,” Harry grinned against his lips. Peter leaned in, closing the little gap between their lips. He cupped Harry’s jaw as he felt Harry’s hand settle on his side. Peter closed his eyes, smiling as he felt Harry nip at his lip, encouraging him to split his lips open. Peter slipped his hands down, wrapping them around Harry’s waist and pulling him on top of him.

Harry gasped, forgetting that one of Peter’s powers was super strength. Peter took his opportunity, catching Harry’s open mouth against his, sliding a hand up Harry’s bare side. The corner of his mouth curled into a smile, tilting into the kiss. Harry rested his hand against Peter’s jaw, indulging in the taste of him until there was a sudden twinge in his stomach.

Harry moved his hand down to Peter’s chest and pulled away, keeping his mouth close to Peter, as if he was second guessing his motives. Even in the dim light, Peter could see the hesitation on his face.

Before Peter said anything, Harry spoke up.

“I feel guilty,” his voice quiet.

“For what?”

“I feel like I’m using you,” Harry said, his hand still against Peter’s chest. “I mean -- I really like this. Sleeping next to you. Kissing you. I really do _like_ you. But you said I’m … I just _feel_ like I’m using you.”

“How?” Peter asked, attempting to keep his temper down. Suddenly, he felt his night crash on him. All of his energy drained as he flopped back on the mattress. His knuckles ached, settling into the pain from punching his way around New York City and as if he hasn’t had filled his need to punch his anger out. He half-wanted to slip out of the bed and back out the window. Find a brick wall or a goon to punch. But he knew he needed to talk this out. At least, for another minute or two.

 “That first night you stayed over, you said that you would protect me if anyone broke in,” Harry said quietly. “I just … if you weren’t here, I just have that baseball bat and it just … doesn’t offer the same amount of protection as it once did.”

“Oh,” Peter relaxed.

“Are you mad?” Harry shifted is weight to push himself off of Peter and look at his face. Peter tightened his grip on his waist, keeping him close, thinking Harry was completely pulling away from him.

“I’m not mad,” Peter said. “You could’ve told me from the start. I would’ve gladly slept on the couch until you felt safe.”

“There’s definitely been a reason why my laundry has been on the couch every single night,” Harry grinned. “Sleeping next to you has been an added bonus.”

“I’m glad to hear,” Peter laughed. “We can do this as long as we need to. I want you to feel safe. Plus, I really like sleeping next to you, too.”

Harry leaned up and pressed a soft kiss against Peter’s lips. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Peter smiled, feeling Harry’s lips millimeters away from his. He tilted his head up slightly, stealing one last gentle kiss before Harry slid back down on his chest. Peter leaned back into the pillow, staring blankly at the ceiling as he traced shapes on Harry’s back. “Harry?”

“Hm?”

“What changed?” Peter asked. “What made your bat inferior to everything but Spider-Man and café robbers?”

“He … threatened me,” Harry said quietly. “He never threatened to _actually_ hurt me before.”

“To actually hurt you,” Peter breathed, not meaning to repeat him.

“‘Other parents spank their kids, _hit_ them,’” Harry said, eyes shut tight, remembering his father’s familiar words way too well. “’I don’t do that. I would never hurt my own son.’ … He made me feel like he was doing me a favor, that he would never physically hurt me.”

“And he will never get the chance to,” Peter said, keeping his touch on Harry’s back light and comforting. “I promise you. He will never get the chance to hurt you.”

“Thank you,” Harry said softly, not sure if he could fully relax yet. Peter was a superhero. Peter could protect him. But Norman had always found a way to reach Harry. “I’ll … I’ll feel better once this week is over.”

“Got big plans this weekend?” Peter teased, gently drawing a heart against Harry’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Harry smiled. “I have a prince taking me to a ball.”

“It’s not a ball,” Peter laughed. “It’s a gala. I don’t think they hold balls anymore.”

“Then I have a superhero taking me to a gala,” Harry said, leaning up to look at Peter. It wasn’t what he meant by waiting for the week to be over, but he was glad he found a silver-lining.

“You have a _photographer_ taking you to a gala,” Peter corrected. “And if we want to be honest, this was probably our plan before I got the assignment anyway. MJ wanted us to go to support Gwen.”

“Right,” Harry said, leaning back down on Peter and closing his eyes. “Maybe … this will fix everything.”

“It might not fix everything,” Peter said, closing his eyes remembering how long it has been since he’s said more than five words to Gwen. “But it’s a start.”

\-----

The day of the gala, Peter and Harry got ready together. Peter wasn’t fond at the idea at first. He knew he would be distracted as the two of them dressed. And formal wear was a weakness of his. But, thanks to the Daily Bugle, they were renting tuxedos and it seemed easier to get them sent to the same place than sending them to both their homes, then finding their way to each other. It also seemed out of the way when Peter really only goes home when he runs out of clean clothes, or knows he needs to do laundry.  

Half of Peter was nervous. He knew there was nothing to be worried about. It was a simple photography assignment at one of the most important evenings in New York. He knew what he needed to get photos of: the commissioner, the mayor, and the policemen that are being honored for the night. He also knew he needed to get pictures of Gwen as she accepts the memorial dedicated for her father.

Peter was nervous for his first real conversation to Gwen that wasn’t made in passing. He was worried he would say something wrong, or worse, that he’d ignore her completely. God. He’s going to be so consciously aware of all of his actions tonight.

But watching Harry get ready calmed his nerves. He knew he should be getting ready too, instead of sitting on the arm of the couch, watching as Harry fixed his hair in the bathroom. Peter had most of his tuxedo on … he just needed to button up his shirt, hiding his Spider-Man suit. But he just needed to calm his nerves.

Peter knew that he’d have Harry beside him, possibly feeling the same anxiety speaking to Gwen after ghosting her for so long. Should he address the fact that he’s been ignoring her and apologize? Or can he just pretend that didn’t happen. He ran his hand through his hair, sighing.

“You’re going to mess up your hair before we even go out,” Harry laughed from the bathroom. He watched Peter from the mirror as he brushed his waves. Peter didn’t realize he sighed that loudly to get his attention. Or that Harry was watching Peter as he watched him. “That pomade isn’t meant for you to keep playing with your hair. Are you really wearing that underneath your suit?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, moving his hand to mindlessly play with the collar of his Spider-Man uniform instead. He knew from previous experiences that he should always be prepared and that the red and blue spandex would be well concealed under the layers of his suit. He’d just be uncomfortably warm. “Just in case.”

Harry set down his brush on the counter as he walked over to Peter. He took the two ends of his shirt and helped Peter button up. “You better not run on me to go beat up an old lady cheating at bingo.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Peter said, watching Harry’s softly stoic expression. “But if you asked me to beat up an old man jaywalking, I wouldn’t hesitate.”

“You should,” Harry laughed, breaking whatever serious tone he was trying to get across to Peter. “That’s a clear lapse of judgement –“ He shifted his attention from the button’s on Peter’s shirt to his face, meeting a gentle smile and soft brown eyes. “God, you’re something else,” Harry laughed, leaning in to press a kiss against Peter’s lips. “Finish getting dressed. I need to find my jacket.”

“It’s on the bed,” Peter called after him, picking up the buttons where Harry had left off. Once they were buttoned, he smoothed down his shirt, feeling the textured suit underneath it. He had already checked to make sure that the shirt was solid enough that the spider wouldn’t show through and luckily he didn’t need to wear an undershirt. He stood up, tucking his shirt in. “Mine is, too. Will you grab it?”

“Already got it,” Harry said, handing it to him as he put his on in a hurry. “The car’s here. We gotta get going.”

The drive felt equal parts long and short, filled with awkward questions from their Uber driver. As soon as they pulled up to their location, they could easily spot Mary Jane and Gwen making their way inside.

“Are you nervous?” Harry asked, giving a soft squeeze to Peter’s knee.

“A little,” Peter admitted.

“Big night?” The driver asked, finding quick parking curbside. “Are you giving a speech?”

“I think I’d be less nervous for a speech,” Peter joked.

“Proposing?”

“God, I hope not,” Harry laughed, opening the door. “Thanks for the lift. C’mon, Pete.”

They checked in, Peter showing his press badge and invitation, and led Harry into the gala.

“Is it bad that I kind of want to see if we can sit somewhere else?” Harry asked quietly. “I don’t want – I don’t want a repeat of meeting Gwen and reminding her of my dad.”

“She knew we were coming. You’re not going to surprise her,” Peter reassured. He knew some part of him wanted to find a different table, too, but he knew Mary Jane would be disappointed in them.

“She knew that time, too,” Harry said, squeezing Peter’s hand as they walked toward their table. Mary Jane looked up and gave a tall wave, making sure that they saw them. Gwen was still fixated on Mary Jane as she finished her story. By the time they arrived at their chairs, Gwen looked over at them and smiled.

“Hey guys,” She said sweetly. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, leaning against his chair. “It’s been a while.”

“Sit down,” Gwen laughed, knowing if she or Mary Jane didn’t say anything that the men would be standing through the entire night. “They’re going to bring dinner out soon.”

“Good, I’m starving,” Peter smiled, sitting down.

“Didn’t we just grab lunch before we got dressed?” Harry laughed as he followed suit.

“When is Peter not hungry?” Mary Jane smirked. “He eats more than Flash, which I’m pretty sure isn’t humanly possible.”

Peter shot a knowing look to Mary Jane.

“Speaking of, have you talked to Flash or Betty recently?” Gwen asked.

“Wait, Flash is back?” Peter asked. “Since when?”

“Well over a year now,” Mary Jane said. “Last February?”

“Yeah,” Gwen nodded. “We had a late Valentine’s Day celebration with him. Cheap candy and an empty diner.”

“We even got Eddie to go,” Mary Jane said. “You really missed out Pete.”

“I really did,” Peter sighed. Sure, he and Flash didn’t get along for the most of high school, but senior year it felt like they could put the past behind them.

“Do I know Flash?” Harry looked at Mary Jane.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “We met up at the Long Island Fair.”

“Right,” Gwen nodded. “He has dark hair and broad shoulders. Uses a wheelchair. Gives off Jim Kirk, vibes?”

 “The veteran? Okay, yeah,” Harry nodded.

“We should go again,” Gwen said, more to Mary Jane than the group. “To the fair –“ She turned her attention back to the group. “All of us, I mean. It was fun last time and I missed out on the miniature goats.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed quietly. He shifted his weight in his chair, glancing away from the group. He remembered that day a lot differently than Gwen did. It was the first time she’s seen him since the incident. “We should.”

Peter watched Harry cautiously, understanding something was wrong. He knocked his knee against his, attempting to pull his attention back to the table. Before Peter could ask anything, Mary Jane spoke up.

“Did you know Peter kissed Flash?”

“MJ –“

“What?” Harry laughed, turning back to the table. “No tell me more.”

“Don’t tell him more –“

“We had one last shindig before Flash’s deployment –“

“MJ –“

“And it’s been forever since Petey has seen Flash –“

“MJ –“

“And we were sophomores in college, so it’s the experimenting phase –“

“Mary Jane, I swear –“

“And it’s just something about a man in a uniform,” Mary Jane laughed, looking at Peter, clearly frustrated. Gwen giggled. Harry nudged him with his elbow.

“You gonna be okay here?” Harry asked quietly.

“With MJ telling you all my secrets?” Peter asked.

“I meant around all the police officers in their uniforms,” Harry grinned.

“Fuck you,” Peter laughed. “That’s not what happened, I –“

Microphone feedback brought their attention to the front of the room and Peter’s hands to his camera. The police commissioner started to speak, welcoming the attendees. Peter adjusted his camera settings, taking several photos of the commissioner. Soon, he glanced toward the back of the room and welcomed Gwen to the stage.

Everyone had clapped as Gwen appeared on the stage. At first, she looked as if she was washed over with stage fright, as she glanced over the audience. But as soon as she caught Mary Jane’s striking red hair, she smiled.

“Thank you for coming here today,” She started, finding her voice steady in the comfort of Mary Jane’s pride. “And thank you for inviting me to accept this memorial for my father, Captain George Stacy, in honor of his service to New York City –“

The lights flickered. Gwen kept on.

“Many of you have worked with him and knew he had big plans to help protect the city –“

The lights shut off. Quickly, the dim emergency lighting flashed on. Many of the attendees looked around, remaining calm for the most part. A few gasps of surprise here and there as they tried to figure out if it was an electrical failure or an emergency. Peter reached over and gave Harry’s knee a light squeeze in comfort. It wasn’t until cackling replaced Gwen’s voice over the speakers when the murmurs quickly turned anxious.

“Shit,” Peter and Harry whispered at the same time.

“Gwen,” Mary Jane whispered back, quickly standing up.

A loud explosion pulled everyone’s attention to the west side of the room. A second explosion brought it to the east. Smaller rapid, explosions followed, creating fear and chaos in the gala. The sinister laughter grew louder.

Peter shoved his camera into Mary Jane’s hands. Using the explosions as a cover, Peter ducked out of sight, quickly searching for the best place to ditch his suit – no, _any place_.

“Gwen!” Mary Jane repeated, extending the camera to Harry. “She needs help –“

“I got her!” Harry raised his voice over another explosion. “I got her!”

“Harry –“ Mary Jane tried to grab his arm to keep him back. He pulled his arm out of her grip quickly running to the stage.

Gwen stood in dread, seeing a different sight than those on the floor were seeing. She could see the explosions happen. She could spot the bomb the second before it went off. She could see the debris falling, barely missing guests below. She could see the Goblin hovering on his glider above the hall.

“Did you miss me, Gwen?” The Goblin laughed.

Gwen dropped the microphone.

The Goblin flew toward her. Gwen quickly stepped back, tripping on her own feet and fell backward. The Goblin continued to fly in her direction, accelerating as he got closer. The sharp points on the glider took aim at Gwen.

Gwen couldn’t find time to scream. She couldn’t find her voice. Her ears filled with white noise, overfilled with stimulation. All she could do was close her eyes and pray that Mary Jane wasn’t watching.

She felt weight against her body, heavy and still.

At first, she was afraid to open her eyes. Afraid that she was going to be met with death and have the Goblin’s eyes as the last ones she remembers.

But soon, Gwen realized she didn’t have any pain. That nothing had happened. She opened her eyes. Harry leaning against her, shielding her from the Goblin. The Goblin stopped, floating at the edge of the stage. She exhaled softly, not realizing she was holding her breath.

“Move, Harry,” the Goblin commanded.

Harry stayed in place.

“Harry!”

“I can’t let you hurt her,” Harry shouted back.

“I will not hesitate to hurt you.”

“Fine,” Harry said, standing up. Gwen was too stunned to protest Harry. Mary Jane had told her that he has come so far, and for him to give up – _to give her up_ to Norman so quickly. He extended his arms. “Hurt me. Kill me! Death would be better than any waking minute near you.”

“Harry –“ Gwen tried to grab at him. Harry took a step forward.

“You put me through Hell. I deserved better. Gwen _deserves_ better! Prove to us that you’re the murderer that we know you are.”

“I’d rather him _not_ ,” Spider-Man chirped from behind the Goblin, quickly letting go of his web and vaulting over the Goblin. In his fall, he casted a web to the glider, quickly pulling it down away from the Goblin. Spider-Man pulled the glider away from the crowd and toward the side of the stage where, he hoped, nobody was there. God. He hoped nobody was there.

The Goblin landed on the stage, taking his few seconds of a head start to run to Harry. If he wasn’t able to kill him with his glider, he knew the blades on his forearms could get the job done.

That is, until Spider-Man quickly webbed him, pulling him backward and on the ground.

“Get to safety!” He called to Harry and Gwen as he shot another web toward the Goblin. Harry quickly helped Gwen off to the side, hoping that they could quickly hide from the Goblin in the crowd. The Goblin’s blades quickly tore through the webbing.

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” The Goblin spat. “You have a better response time than some of these –“

“Hey,” Spider-Man interrupted, quickly spraying webbing over the Goblin’s mask. He quickly jumped over the Goblin while he was trying to pull the webbing off his vision. “You’re at a private event. Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners?”

“She taught me to respect those who deserve it,” The Goblin growled, finally pulling the webbing off the mask, able to see the web Spider-Man was shooting at him. He grabbed it, pulling Spider-Man in and gut punched him. “Unlike you.”

Spider-Man gasped, quickly grabbing the Goblin’s mask. He pulled it off and tossed it aside. “Show them who you really are,” He spat. “Who the _Goblin_ really is.”

“You do the same,” Norman snapped, quickly reaching for Spider-Man’s mask. Spider-Man blocked the Goblin’s arm, slamming his forearm against Norman’s head. He broke free from the webbing in Norman’s grasp. He knew he wanted to just lay punch after punch on Norman. He wanted to hurt him as much as he could to make Gwen and Harry feel better … but he knew better.

Spider-Man used his momentum, quickly changing directions to push the Goblin on the ground, webbing temporary restraints. He looked up at the crowd, many uniformed officers with their weapons drawn toward the vigilante. Spider-Man stood up slowly, with his hands raised slightly. As soon as the first officer saw the Goblin’s defeat, he lowered his weapon. Others followed suit, keeping their weapon drawn and ready in case the Goblin moved.

The Goblin was never caught before. The Goblin’s identity was secret, although many had suspected Norman Osborn. And as soon after George Stacy’s death, nobody saw the Goblin after that. It was hard to catch him for his crimes. They lucked out catching Norman for other felonies, able to put him behind bars in case the Goblin decided to stir up more trouble. But it was never proven that Norman was the Goblin … Until now.

The quiet room filled with murmur as they could see the man’s face as he slowly tried to get up. The webbing on his wrists was too strong, and too far from the blades to escape. Norman had no other choice than accepting defeat, but that didn’t stop him from fighting his way to the police car.

Spider-Man was quick to escape before anyone could question him.

But that also meant that Peter Parker was without a change of clothes until someone brought him them.

After a few forehead kisses, streaming tears and long embraces, Mary Jane, Gwen and Harry quickly searched the halls for anywhere that Peter might have dumped his suit. Mary Jane found it in the trashcan, quickly shoving as much as she could in her purse, and handing the rest to Gwen to shove in hers. Gwen didn’t ask questions as she took the rental suit in her hands, feeling as if she already knew the answer.

Mary Jane wrapped her arm around Gwen’s waist, pulling her in tightly. Without a word, Mary Jane led her to the exit, away from the mess that was the gala, and toward outside.

“Wait,” Harry said, quickly following behind them. “What about Peter?”

“He’ll find us,” Mary Jane said, stopping at the edge of a sidewalk to flag down a taxi. “It won’t take long, but he has to do a sweep of the neighborhood. So we might as well go somewhere comfortable. The Korean BBQ near your place still do delivery?”

Harry nodded, as they slipped into the yellow taxi, silent on the event that unraveled before them only minutes before, but they all had their minds on it.

Harry, merely centimeters from Mary Jane, felt distant as he kept his attention outside the car window, searching for that familiar red and blue uniform. His fingers buzzed with anxiety against his leg, his heart pounded, unable to calm down from the fearless man, who was ready to murder his own flesh and blood to get to Gwen.

Mary Jane kept the conversation going between the back seat and the taxi driver. She asked about his evening, about the photos on his dash, and if he knew if it was going to rain. Her steady, confident voice hitched between words when she remembers Gwen was nearly moments away from death, for the second time in her life.

Gwen kept her eyes closed for most of the trip, only opening when she needed to peek at the photo of the driver’s children. She practiced her breathing to keep her calm, a technique she learned in her therapy. She counted backward from a hundred, only to start back up again when she reached one. She asked follow-up questions to the driver, about his wife and what his daughter is studying in college. When her mind blanks, forgetting what number comes next or if she was inhaling or exhaling, her eyes start to water. Quickly, she finds a distraction, pushing the tears away and starting the countdown again.

And just like the first cool drops of rain on the windshield, the trio found relaxation. Unsure who grabbed a hand first, they pulled themselves together on the rest of the drive – hand in hand.

By the time they arrived to Harry’s place, the rain fell harder. They quickly slipped out of the taxi and into the building, dashing upstairs to his apartment, finding their laughter along the way.

As soon as they stepped into Harry’s apartment, they felt at home. They streamed a feel good movie, changing clothes into something more relaxing – Gwen and Mary Jane borrowing clothes that were slightly too big on them, but anything was better than those dresses.

Gwen and Mary Jane sat on the floor, Mary Jane’s back against the couch with Gwen in between her legs. Mary Jane slowly braided Gwen’s short, blonde hair, combing any stiff hairspray out with her fingers. Eventually, Harry pulled out his hard bristle brush to help, but Mary Jane continued to use her fingers.

Harry sat on the window sill, listening to the rain and waiting … Waiting for the window to open completely … Waiting for the man who saved the day … Waiting for his anxieties to calm down.

“Harry,” Mary Jane cooed. “Come sit with us.”

“I’m fine here,” Harry said, adjusting himself to see the girls better. “Listening to the rain.”

“He’ll be here soon,” Mary Jane promised.

“Come sit down,” Gwen beckoned. “I’ll brush your hair like old times.”

“I’m okay,” Harry said. “Promise. I’m enjoying the rain.”

“Can you even hear the tv?” Gwen laughed.

“I can,” Harry reassured. He knew it probably wasn’t any good focusing on the lack of Peter in the room. He turned his back against the window and attempted to watch the film.

A soft knock against the window pulled Harry’s attention from the movie. He quickly stood up and helped push the window up. Spider-Man climbed over the window sill, quickly throwing his mask off and to the floor. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulder, tucking him underneath his chin.

“You saved her,” Peter whispered, his voice low for only Harry to hear him. He tightened his grip on Harry, remembering the face of the man who was ready to accept death to protect a friend and to escape his father’s clutches. He could’ve lost Harry tonight. “Don’t you ever forget that. You saved her.”

“You did most of it,” Harry said, finally finding the comfort he was searching for. He buried his face into Peter’s chest. “I just stood up to him.”

“You’re brave, y’know that?” Peter whispered, pressing a long gentle kiss to the top of Harry’s head. Harry pulled back to lean up and kiss Peter.

Mary Jane cleared her throat, reminding the men that they had company.

Peter walked over to Mary Jane, pressing a soft kiss against the top of her head before kneeling down next to Gwen. He’s been dreading this moment since that night on the bridge, to finally reveal his secret identity to Gwen. This was never how he planned. But that’s the Parker Luck.

“Gwen, I –“

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in tightly. Peter took a second before he held her back.

“Thank you,” Gwen said. She leaned back and pressed a kiss against his forehead. “ _Peter_. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, staying still. Gwen leaned back to look at his face. “I should’ve told you.”

“Some part of me already knew,” She said, running her hand down his arm, feeling the webbing on his suit. “I just … needed you to come forward.”

“I should’ve been there for you,” Peter said.

“We all make mistakes,” Gwen replied. “It’s what makes us human.”

“Now go get changed,” Mary Jane said. “You’re soaking wet. We can start the movie over when you’re back.”

“Yes, MJ, I’m perfectly fine,” Peter said sarcastically as he stood up. He worked his top off as he made his way to the bedroom. “Stopped two muggings and a car theft. They were dangerous. Don’t worry about me not a scratch –“ his voice faded as he made his way to Harry’s bedroom. Mary Jane rolled her eyes, glancing over at Harry, who couldn’t help but smirk.

Peter took one last glance at the gang before shutting the bedroom door, catching Harry’s gentle smirk before going back to the window to close it. Peter found his clothes from earlier, tossed lazily aside in Harry’s bedroom. He kicked the rest of his suit off and slipped on his shirt. He almost stuck his head out of the bedroom to ask if he could borrow a pair of boxers before he remembered Gwen and Mary Jane were still in the living room and were bound to make fun of him. Peter figured it was better to apologize for borrowing a pair than it was to hear them ridicule him for the rest of the night.

He ran his hand through his damp hair before opening the bedroom door. He stopped in the doorway, finally feeling relief and comfort. Mary Jane nearly lost the love of her life tonight. Gwen faced her nightmare once again. Yet, they were happy. Mary Jane’s arms wrapped around Gwen’s waist lazily as she pressed gentle kisses against her neck. Gwen giggled with each kiss as she navigated throughout the streaming service’s movie list. Harry critiqued the movies from the couch, ranging from “terrible and cliché” to “not gay enough” and “just watched that.”

Peter softly sighed happily, feeling a sense of normalcy in his friendship. For once in his life, he felt like a normal guy. That everything felt right in the world. That everything was going to be fine.

Harry looked up from the couch, smiling when he noticed Peter. He extended his arms toward Peter, beckoning him to come over. Peter gently knocked his head against the doorway before walking over and collapsing in Harry’s arms. He buried his face into the crook of Harry’s neck, closing his eyes as he heard a cheesy, 80s song introduce the movie that Gwen picked.

“I can’t stay for long,” Peter mumbled against Harry’s skin. Harry tightened his grip around Peter’s waist, reluctant for him to leave. “I need to run those photos by the Bugle.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mary Jane said, reaching for her water. Peter lifted his head off of Harry. “You left us your camera and phone. I emailed the photos to him.”

“God, you’re an angel, MJ,” Peter sighed, leaning back down on Harry.

“Isn’t she?” Gwen said, bringing Mary Jane’s hand up to her lips to kiss.

“Change your passwords,” Mary Jane said. “Now relax, and pay attention to the movie.”

By the time the movie finished, most of the apartment was asleep. Mary Jane and Gwen moved to the bedroom halfway through the film, knowing that Harry wouldn’t mind. Peter, somehow, managed to not fall asleep on Harry during the movie, but it was getting hard to not allow himself to do so. He didn’t want to move, in case he woke him. But by the time the second credit song started, he felt Harry’s hand move up his back.

“I think I’m happy,” Harry whispered, gently running his fingers up Peter’s spine.

“You think?”

“If this is what happy feels like,” Harry said, bringing his hand to Peter’s cheek. “It’s been a while since I’ve felt this way.”

“Me too,” Peter said, leaning in to press a soft kiss against Harry’s lips. “We deserve this.”


End file.
